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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622135">Dreamland</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaddybear/pseuds/deaddybear'>deaddybear</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lost Time [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Metalocalypse (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brief Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wholesome Content: On Water, also ANGST!!, domestics bliss, established relationships - Freeform, graphic depictions of violence and death, heavily inspired by Galaktikon II, the pickleface is one-sided</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:01:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>63,673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622135</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaddybear/pseuds/deaddybear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One year after the events of "Lost Time," the band is trying to heal and get on with their lives - and more importantly, move forward in their relationships. But with the Prophecy moving forward full-force, and Murderface's resentment spiraling out of control, everything they care about is on the line.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer, Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth, William Murderface/Pickles the Drummer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lost Time [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i am literally SO excited for this &lt;3 this is the lost time universe's take on galaktikon 2, i hope you enjoy!!<br/>you don't have to have read Past Lives (prequel fic), but it's strongly recommended to understand mface's character here! i was going to wait for that fic to finish to start this one, but i think it might be cool to have them both update in tandem. anyways!!! lets gooo</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“Acid rain! Volcanic eruptions of blood lava! Wildfires burning with metal shard embers! All these strange natural disasters are happening more and more frequently, and scientists are terrified about the extreme predicted rise in sea levels! We still don’t know why--”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The channel flips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“--fans all around the world are celebrating the anniversary of the world’s most popular power couple, as it’ll be one year next Friday when Toki Wartooth and Skwisgaar Skwigelf announced their relationship to the public! And if our most recent reports are true, the two of them are more loved-up than ever! Is marriage in the future for Dethklok’s former most eligible bachelor? Everyone is baffled by how domestic the longtime womanizer has--” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“---what scientists are calling the ‘Doomstar,’ as it’s believed that it’s going to collide with the Earth’s surface and end us all! People are starting to worry that the endtimes are approaching! Fans are looking to Dethklok for guidance through these trying times, but their appearances have become so rare that the public is wondering if they even know what’s going on outside of Mordhaus! Now that they’re underwater, they might not---”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flip.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“--Explosion! In this video call, you can clearly see Pickles is in Nathan’s bed in the background!” A reporter says, playing footage of Nathan fucking around with his webcam, growling and shaking his hands in frustration at the technology, flashing a glimpse of Pickles reading some Shakespeare in his bed. “Many argue that he’s fully dressed, so the two of them could’ve just been ‘palling around.’ But fans are going savage with obsession! Suicides, bombings, anarchy---”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles Offdenson rubs his eyes, sighing tiredly as he forces himself to turn off the TV in his office. God, usually he likes feeling overworked - now, he’s simply exhausted. For him, it’s been a long year. Between Skwisgaar and Toki’s relationship becoming the apple of the public eye, and Nathan and Pickles’ fans frothing at the mouths for answers, he almost would be satisfied never hearing about a Dethklok relationship again. If he wasn’t still so happy for them, that is - and thus, it makes it worth it to deal with. Honestly, it’s the smallest problem he has right now. The Metalocalypse has been kicking into full speed, and Charles is fighting as hard as he can against it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dethklok doesn’t know what’s going on in the outside world, and doesn’t care enough to pay attention. Charles has done a good job pushing off gigs, setting up virtual meetings, and stalling for time with the label. The five of them have been so busy trying to return to their own normalcy, and they really couldn’t care less about performing as they sink all of their time into each other. With being reunited and in their respective relationships, nobody wants to do anything except pal around. They’re so focused on takin’ it easy and healing to even begin to try and wrap their minds around the Prophecy, and what’s still to come. Charles likes it that way. It’s best not to think about it too much, and they already have enough on their plates. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants his boys to be happy. It’s been nice, watching them finally realize that their happiness lies in each other. Charles had assisted in their matchmaking, afterall - even though a part of him fears for how...attached to each other they are. Hell, he’s attached to them, and that’s why he’s been working tirelessly to try and figure out a different solution than the one foreshadowed in the prophecy. They don’t need to know about what’s coming - not yet. He won’t tell them until he absoloutely must, especially because nothing is concrete, until it actually happens. And while the Prophecy has been mostly accurate thus far, Charles really, really hopes that he can do something to turn the tides. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The manager pushes away from his desk, eyes blurry from staring at screens and papers all day. He’s so exhausted that he thinks about just falling into his bed, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep unless he knows they’re all safe. Charles slips out the door, and he does what he’s been doing every night for the past six months - he checks on the boys. Just to make sure everyone’s accounted for, to make sure all five pulses are still beating. While nobody’s really asked how Charles has dealt with everything...seeing Toki’s heart stop has left him a touch paranoid. He can’t have anything like that happening again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This in mind, he cracks open the door to Skwisgaar’s room first. He expects to hear guitar playing - Dethklok’s guitarists have been experiencing some sleeping troubles, so they spend most nights up together, palling around and trying to keep their minds far away from the nightmares that brew underneath the surface. However, he hears crying - which, sadly, isn’t uncommon either. Charles sighs, bracing himself for the worst, before he peeks into the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki is crumbled against Skwisgaar, white blankets tangled around their legs as the blonde holds him crushingly close. He just barely hears the lead guitarist’s voice, nothing more than a soft murmur as he whispers against Toi’s hair, “It ams just a dreams, </span>
  <em>
    <span>min kärlek</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’s here with mes, and we ams safes…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, Skwisgaar doesn’t know how wrong he is, but Charles would never let that on to them. Toki just sobs against him, a white-knuckled grip on Skiwsgaar’s shirt, and the blonde patiently keeps holding him. Charles knows that this has been a common thing, in the lives of the guitarists - he also knows that Skwisgaar desperately wants to be the one to fix this for Toki, so he hasn’t been coming to anyone for help outside of what’s forced out of him in therapy. He beats himself up over it, but Skwisgaar has to know that he’s gotten Toki through so much over the past year - he’s lifted him up, carried him through it all, and Charles honestly doesn’t know what the two of them would do without each other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I can’ts--” Toki gasps, dropping his head against the blonde’s shoulder, “He ams </span>
  <em>
    <span>in my heads</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I can’ts remembers, I--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhh,” Skwisgaar shushes him gently, rubbing his back, holding him close. His voice is achingly gentle, in the way that he only ever speaks when he and Toki are alone, and he plants a kiss to the brunette’s temple, “Whats ams my names? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I don’t…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki sniffles, shaking against him, and the guitarist nudges him gently, “Goes on, Tokis.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-You ams...Skwisgaar Skwigelf,” Toki sucks in a wet breath, body racked with tremors, and Skwisgaar seems all too used to this as he tucks strands of dark hair behind the brunette’s ears. The blonde kisses on him on the cheek, “Veries goods. How does we knows each othors?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki’s hysterics start to fade out, just a tiny bit, as he huffs out, “W-We ams in Dethkloks togethers...” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar raises a soft, smug eyebrow, “Ands?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And...we ams in loves,” Toki whispers, letting Skwisgaar separate them a bit so the blonde can cup his face. Toki puts one of his shaking hands over the Swede’s, blinking the fear away as he nods to himself slowly, “Dats right, we...we gots him out, and now we….we ams finallies togethers…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sees? You still gots it. It ams all still theres,” Skwisgaar offers a smile, kissing his forehead. When they hug again, the blonde finally lets his face drop into crushing relief, not willing to let Toki see how equally terrified he is at the notion of Toki waking up memoryless. He sighs, more to himself than the brunette, “We ams finallies togethers.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles slips away - the two of them have gone through this nightly routine enough to be able to take it from here. Before he gets to the end of the hall, he hears their guitars begin to strum - looks like the two of them weren’t getting any sleep tonight, as usual. He huffs to himself, knowing he’s going to have to bring this up to Twinkletits before the band meets for their weekly therapy session in the morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He strides down the hall to Murderface’s room - and he hesitates outside the door. For some reason, recently, he’s had...a feeling, about their bassist, and something isn’t sitting right in his gut. Something besides the obvious, which is Murderface’s burning jealousy over Pickles, that’s worsened and worsened over the past year. But this isn’t that...or, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> that. Charles has always been very, very good at knowing when something is up with Dethklok, and he just can’t put his finger on it. When he peeks into the bassist’s room, he sees him kicking around, scowling, snuggling the sweaty body pillow in his arms tighter.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You burn...to duscht...” he mutters in his sleep, nose twitching, squeezing his pillow tighter. Charles frowns, that ominous feeling rolling over in his gut. He forces himself to pull the door shut, even though something tells him he shouldn’t walk away. He adjusts his glasses, and then pads down the hall to Pickles’ room. Empty - Charles had been hoping they’d be up here, so he wouldn’t have to walk all the way down to Nathan’s room. Ugh. The things he does for Dethklok.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles makes it down to where Nathan’s room lies in the lower depths of Mordhaus, and he carefully cracks open the door. A whale swims by outside of Nathan’s window, almost as if Charles had scared it away - ever since they’d moved Mordhaus underwater, Nathan has been...more in his own element. He’d turned his far wall into one giant window, so he could sit pensively and watch the sea life swim by outside. It’s honestly kind of beautiful, mixing colors of dark blues and purples as the moonlight reflects like shards of glass through the water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moonlight is shining on where Pickles and Nathan are all cuddled up together, almost like the beam of light is intentionally there, and the first thing Charles thinks about is the Prophecy. He quickly shoves that thought away, because no. The second thing he thinks about is Nathan’s death-growling snores mixing with Pickles’ whiny sleep mumbling, and how it almost sounds like a duet. Prophecy or not, the two of them really are meant for each other, and a sad frown tugs on the corner of their manager’s face as he slips back into the darkness. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing is set in stone, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he tells himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You still have time to try and fix it for them.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sire,” a Klokateer grabs his attention, as Charles pulls the door shut. “Is tonight, uh. One of those nights? Would you like me to...ah, put the boots to him? Medium style?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Charles says quickly, a flash of darkness settling over his eyes, the rest of his face otherwise perfectly expressionless. “I, ah. Suppose it’s necessary.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been seven months since we began interrogation, Sire,” the Klokateer says nervously. “We’re getting no answers, and things are getting worse on land. Don’t you think perhaps we should change tactics?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Charles says, turning on his heel as he starts walking down the hall. “Trust me. I’ll get what I need, sooner or later. I always do.” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>William Murderface doesn’t usually dream. For as long as he could remember, his mind would swallow him up in an endless, gaping blackness - he’d always just assumed his brain was too brutal, too full of hatred, for something as sweet as dreaming. But tonight, he dreams about Pickles. This is a problem, because he does not want to be dreaming about his goddamn drummer, doesn’t want to be thinking about him like that anymore. Couldn’t his brain have given him Servetta Skwigelf instead? Or literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> else? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently not, because the image in his mind’s eye practically strangles him with a nostalgic pain, making him feel dizzy and ill as he stands in the dreamy darkness of the LA Burzum’s the two of them used to work together at. Pickles is in his work uniform, hair wild and eyes shockingly green, that cute little babyface smirking at him across the cash register, a vision of a simpler time. A time when it was just him and Pickles against the world, a time before Tony and Magnus and Nathan. But Murderface has nobody to blame but himself, about Pickles and Nathan’s inevitable romance, and he really fucking hates himself for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Will,” Pickles says, a name he hasn’t called Murderface in so long, and it makes him feel like he has the flu, whole body rattling with sickness. Small hands take the bassist’s in his own, squeezing as he smirks crookedly at him, tossing his hair back over a shoulder. Pickles gets up near his ear, whispers, “Flip the switch, buddy, ‘n the filth is cleaned.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Picklesch, thisch is...thisch is gay,” Murderface manages to say, words not coming to him correctly as he sways on his feet. Behind the counter, he sees two other men, standing behind Pickles ominously - one of them has this ridiculous beard, soulless blue eyes and bared teeth; the other looks like some type of general, iced out in accolades and badges, eyes glowing red. “Who are thesche….who are thesche dicksch? Picklesch—?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Go to the basement, Will,” Pickles mutters against the side of his face, voice sounding ominously unlike his own. Murderface suddenly yelps in alarm as Pickles’ sharp fingernails dig deep into the meat of his wrists, and it hurts. Dreams aren’t supposed to hurt, are they? Murderface watches the blood run down his arms, shades of red and purple fading in and out as it drenching Pickles’ hands, and the redhead’s voice is back against his ear, “Consider yourself activated, dood.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Murderface gasps as he wakes up, right hand stinging painfully, the mysterious scar from a scratch he doesn’t remember getting throbbing against his skin. The sickness he’d felt in his dream stays with him, hitting him full force and pounding in his heart, sliding through his veins, and he shudders as he puts his hands over his burning eyes. What the actual fuck....</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The more conscious he gets, the more the dream he'd just had slips away from his memory, before he suddenly can’t remember what had woken him up in the first place. All that he’s left with are lyrics to a song he’s never heard, repeating on a loop in his head - </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Search lights from the sky, if he freezes, he could die. The searchers want him alive, he could try to take his own life.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fuck is that song? Sounds like shit. He scrubs at his face, hissing at the pain in his arm, tossing and turning as he tries to get comfortable again. He listens to the sounds of Toki screaming from a nightmare down the hall - something they’re all used to, at this point - and the anxiety tears at his chest as he tries not to care, tries to force himself back to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs, seeing a quick flash of purple, and then everything sinks back into the blackness. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. banana stickers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i rlly wanted to write them all in therapy LOL</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathan Explosion has felt a deep, indescribable call to the ocean for as long as he could remember. He’d spend all his time as a little dildo kid at the aquariums, he’d shotgun beers with his toes in the water back when he was teenager back in Florida. Whenever he'd get fed up with things, or wanted to go someplace where he didn't feel so...insignificant, he'd sneak off to the beach in the middle of the night, and spend his time underneath the stars. It made him feel...whole, maybe, and nothing else in the world ever gave him the same sense of completion. Not until he met Pickles, that is. The first time their eyes met, it was like he was staring into an endless abyss of sparkling tide, and he was never the same again. </p><p>He’s had dreams about water beasts for longer than he could remember - but whenever he’s sleeping next to him, all he can dream about is his drummer. 9/10 times, his dreams about Pickles are sweet, romantic things that he can’t even believe a brain as dark and brutal as his own could create. Especially lately, he dreams of Europe - the Eiffel Tower twinkling behind them as they clink together glasses of champagne, or death-growling out a gondola serenade as Pickles sensually cracks open a bag of Italian chips.</p><p>The other 10% of the time, though...well. Nathan’s not a psychic or anything, but sometimes he has a dream about Pickles and then later down the line, it comes true. Maybe like with the band, there’s a prophecy between the two of them. Maybe they’re meant to be together, like Toki and Skwisgaar, and the water beasts are trying to tell him what’s ahead. Or maybe he’s just really fucking gay for his drummer, and his dumb romantic heart is finally starting to make him go crazy. </p><p>He’d been seventeen, when it first happened, and all Pickles was to him back then was a celebrity sex icon whose raunchy Rolling Stones magazine covers were stuffed underneath his mattress. He’d been running on the field with the football tucked underneath his arm, and then some fucking tank of a kid smashed into him and he went barreling head-first to the ground. </p><p>When everything went black, he saw what he didn’t know at the time would be his first premonition dream about Pickles. Except it wasn’t the version of Pickles he knew from billboards and MTV, it was...this high, grungy, older, dredlocked version of the singer, and he was looking at him like...well, like Nathan was his everything. He grinned as he sparked up a joint, inhaling deeply before gently grabbing Nathan by the sides of his face. He breathed the smoke into his mouth, and just as they started to really kiss, Nathan was back on the football field with a concussion and a newfound drive to listen to more Snakes ‘n Barrels. </p><p>It would take another twenty years for the dream to come true, but...it did. And it was the first of many. Usually, he can’t tell which dream is just his stupid gooey brain, and which is some sort of prophetic riddle, and he’s never really in a huge rush to get answers. These things usually sort themselves out, so he just kinda rolls with the punches and waits for it play out naturally. And on this particular morning, he’s dreaming about his drummer yet again. </p><p>
  <em> The world in front of Nathan is thrumming with a hazy, dreamlike clarity, his feet clad in hulking, iron boots blurring in and out of focus against a ground covered in ice. He blinks away some sort of water out of his eyes, almost able to feel the cold seeping into his bones as he looks down to see dainty, rough hands locked like a vice around his own.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Nate’n, babe, lookit me,” Pickles says, voice sounding choked-up and far away, and Nathan lifts his eyes to look up at him, alarmed at the urgency in his tone. There’s an icy storm raging behind his drummer, who’s bulked up in a suit of armor, looking chivalrous and determined but very, very afraid. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Nathans! Pickle! We gots to goes!” Skwisgaar yells over the roaring wind somewhere out of Nathan’s tunnel vision. The frontman can’t bring himself to move, just watching as Pickles raises their hands to his face, knocking a kiss against a black band on Nathan’s left ring finger.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Why are you crying? Nathan wants to ask at the sight of the tears freezing down freckled cheeks, but the dream won’t let him speak. Pickles sniffles, squeezing his eyes shut and bringing more tears with the action, as he whispers, “I’ll remember you, dood. I fuckin’ swear, I’ll remember you.” </em>
</p><p>His alarm clock goes off, and his eyes snap open - when he brings a large hand up to his face, it comes back wet with tears. Not brutal. What the fuck was that, though? It couldn’t have been a premonition, because standing with an armored-up Pickles in the middle of an ice storm doesn’t seem realistic or likely, but…</p><p>Something about the dream makes him feel incredibly unsettled in a very ominous type of way. Nathan does not like to be afraid, and he always has felt like he’s kind of a brave guy. But the idea of Pickles crying, of him being hurt, it terrifies him; spurred on by his dream, he glances down at the drummer in his arms. </p><p>Pickles makes one of those cute puppy noises as he cuddles against Nathan, rough hands pulling him tighter, and the warmth that explodes in his chest sends off any remaining bad feelings from his dream. Judging by the way the afternoon light filters itself through the vast underwater windows of Nathan’s room, it’s time for them to get up anyways. And by get up, Nathan’s thinking they shoot for a very metal make-out session before they pretend to listen to Twinkletits blather on about “healing” and “bonding.” Ugh. </p><p>“Pickles,” he whispers in a soft grumble, poking his drummer in the cheek. He’s almost sad to wake him - he’s so infuriatingly cute as he sleeps, and it’s nice to see him look so peaceful, especially with all the anxiety he’s been riddled with lately. Pickles shakes his head groggily, nose scrunching, one of his dreds falling into his face, and fuck, Nathan can’t help himself. </p><p>He leans in, pressing softly chapped lips against the other man’s mouth. His drummer makes a sleepy, intrigued noise - toes curling against Nathan’s calves as he‘s slowly kissed awake. They get lost in it, in how right it feels to be...like this, together, and Nathan’s had a lot of stupid girlfriends before but he knows he’s never been this level of infinitely brutal, blow-your-brains-out in love before. </p><p>“Heeey. Nate’n,” Pickles whispers against his mouth, grinning crookedly at him. “Guess whet.” </p><p>Nathan smiles, a real ass genuine smile, as Pickles brushes that one stand of dark hair out of his face and grunts in question, “Hmf?” </p><p>“We ain’t dreamin’,” Pickles says, as Nathan smushes his cheeks between his thumb and his forefinger. “And I ain’t high or drunk...yet. S’thet means we’re really fuckin’ here.” </p><p>“You’re shocked by this, like. Every day, Pickles,” Nathan rumbles out a laugh, leaning in to kiss his smushed face. “You’re all mine. Get used to it.” </p><p>“Meybe I just like hearin’ you sey it,” Pickles grins, and then they’re kissing again. They’re so wrapped up in each other that they completely tune out the first several knocks on the door. Eventually, Murderface’s voice paired with a banging fist is too annoying of a combination, and it breaks through, “—COME ON, WE WANNA GET THISCH SCHIT OVER WITH!”</p><p>They stop kissing, Pickles’ head dropping against Nathan’s chest as he huffs at the interruption. Murderface is still knocking impatiently, over and over again - Nathan has half a mind to kick the shit out of him for ruining the moment, and he growls out, “FINE. Fuck, we’ll be out in a fucking minute. God." </p><p>Pickles sighs, like pulling away from Nathan is the hardest thing he’ll ever do, and he gropes over the side of the bed for his shirt as they untangle from each other. He mutters, rubbing at his eyes sleepily, “Yanno, I don’t think we need’a do all this ‘team bonding’ crep. Like, I ain’t sayin’ we don’t need therapy, ‘cuz lord knows we <em> do </em>, but why do we gotta do it all together like a fuckin’...emotional orgy.”</p><p>“God, I know. And why does it have to be so early. Anything that requires me to wake up before 2pm is fucking disgusting,” Nathan growls, pulling on his t-shirt, kicking a socked foot into his jeans. They’re all emotionally traumatized in their own ways from what they went through with Toki, and they all need the therapy, but. They’re a metal band. Emotions aren’t brutal, and talking about them outloud is even worse. Nathan’s tone lightens, however, as he smirks, “Hey. You know what today is?” </p><p>Pickles, who had been trying to shimmy into his own pants, instantly grins crookedly at him. “Ohhhh, I dunno. Could it beee...one month exectly ‘til our boyfriender-bender?” </p><p>“Fuck yeah it is,” Nathan growls, body practically vibrating with excitement as he glances at the calendar on the wall with the upcoming date outlined in a black, brutal shape of a heart. “God, I can’t believe it’s finally happening.” </p><p>One year ago, the two of them started planning their first trip as boyfriends with the time that Nathan earned from being forced to take Abigail to the stupid fucking gala. But...they’ve kinda come to the very not-metal conclusion that they’re, ugh. The band mom and dad. And with Toki so freshly back and struggling to deal with all the trauma he remembered all at once, every time they’d mention their vacation he’d look at them with these nervous puppy eyes, and they just couldn’t bring themselves to leave him. </p><p>Now, they’d been pretty sure the band is in a place where they’d be okay with them leaving for a couple weeks. And having almost a year to plan has given them the ability to map out the absolute perfect trip. It involves a lot of drinking, flicking off the seven wonders of the world, and you-know-whatting. The three essentials. And honestly, the two of them really need this; they need to relax, to enjoy the company of just each other, to try and heal in the best way they know how - getting drunk and takin’ it easy. </p><p>“Yeeeah. I might have a ‘lil surpriese fer ya. Y’can’t know ‘til we get to our first stop, ‘doe,” Pickles quirks an eyebrow at him playfully, finally getting his jeans up over his hips. </p><p>“Oh, no no. Pickles, you know I hate surprises. The suspense fucking kills me,” Nathan scowls, face flushing. “What, uhh. What is it. Tell me.” </p><p>Pickles grins crookedly - deviously, oh god - at him as he cinches his fly, “I ain’t tellin’ you shit, Nate. I gahtta keep you on yer toes somehow, right?” </p><p>That’s wonderfully ominous. Pickles plus a surprise is a chaotic combination. Nathan glances down at his bare left hand, thinks about the black band from his dream and---no. No, that couldn’t be it, and he shakes it off. When the two of them finish up getting dressed and Pickles pulls open the door, Murderface is still fucking standing there. He’s tapping his foot, arms crossed, looking like a jealous ex or something as he hisses, “It’sch about fucking time, you dicksch. Let'sch fucking go already.” </p><p>“Y’were just standin’ there? You tryin’ to listen to us bone, dood?” Pickles raises an eyebrow with a smirk as the three of them start walking upstairs to the meeting room, and Murderface literally chokes on his own spit as his face lights on fire. </p><p>“NO! WH--?! ASCH IF!” Murderface exclaims, face suddenly blazing. “I don’t even wanna THINK about that!” </p><p>Pickles laughs, because making Murderface uncomfortable with his own sexuality is hilarious, but. Honestly, for a guy who freaks out over gay shit so much, he’s been pretty pissy ever since Nathan and Pickles announced their relationship. He watches the way Murderface stares at Pickles, as the redhead sweeps his dreds off his neck and ties them back into a ponytail, and Nathan’s eyes narrow. It’s not like he hasn’t noticed the way Murderface is with Pickles before, but...recently, it’s really started to gnaw at him. </p><p>Murderface continues as they walk down the hall, “What elsch do you expect me to do?! Hang around with fucking Toki and Skwisgaar while they suck facesch? They’re worse than your guysch with that schit!” </p><p>“We don’t do that around you,” Nathan snaps defensively. “Not like they do, at least.” </p><p>“Yeah, and even if we did, it’s our fuckin’ house too, and we can be gay wherever we want,” Pickles says, with no malice, as he pats Murderface on the shoulder. The brunette looks down at his hand, face flushing. “And y’know, even if Toki and Skwisgaar do get a lil’ carried away--”</p><p>Murderface snorts incredulously, and Pickles talks over it, “--you can’t be a dick about it. This is ‘dere happy endin’, and we’re just livin’ in it. I mean, after alla’ thet time bein’ apart and avoiding their feelings, they deserve to just be like that, yknow?” </p><p>Murderface rolls his eyes and grumbles in response, but he doesn’t push it - out of all of them, he fights with Pickles the least. He’s more willing to listen, if it’s to Pickles, and Nathan is supposed to be the group fucking leader. Murderface is supposed to listen to him, not be giving him that territorial jealous look when Nathan’s big hand swallows Pickles’ smaller one. </p><p>The three of them make their way into the study where band therapy sessions are held, and they stand around a bit in hopes of stalling. Interestingly enough, when they get to the table, Skwisgaar is lazily fingerpicking his guitar where he sits by himself. He looks...anxious, in the way that he does whenever Toki isn’t next to him, but he smiles when he sees the three of them. </p><p>“Toki in a one-on-one with Twinkletits?” Pickles asks, and Skwisgaar hums in confirmation. </p><p>“Guess whats I gots for the little dildo for our anniversaries,” The blonde grins conspiratorially, pulling a little black box out of his pocket. The blonde lifts off the top, flashing two concert tickets inside as he leans back into his chair smugly, “It ams Metallikas. Toki ams goingks to lose his shits.” </p><p>“Heeey, you could’ve invited me ‘n Nate!” Pickles crosses his arms, feigning offense. “It would’ve been a perfect opportunity to take the Fifth Wheel fer a spin!”</p><p>Murderface slams a hand against the table, “FUCK YOU PICKLESCH! I AM NOT THE GODDAMN FIFTH WHEEL!” </p><p>“It ams, eugh,” Skwisgaar is clearly trying to feign off the gooey smile he always seems to be wearing lately. “It ams skentimentals, to me and Toki. We was supposed to goes to a Metallikas consorts, but den we gots in dat big fights and...I figureds we makes up fors it.” </p><p>“Fuck,” Nathan inhales, trying not to get all fucking blubbery over Toki and Skwisgaar’s love story. For some reason, the more he hears about it, the more...emotional, it makes him. He’s so fucking happy for them that he can barely stand it. “That’s, uh. Good, for you guys. And Metallica is fucking brutal, so.”</p><p>“Ooooh, dude, doesn’t Hetfield fuckin’ owe you a favor? You should get ‘im to let you come onstage, and you fuckin ask Toki to like. Marry ya or somethin’,” Pickles says easily, and Nathan’s green eyes snap up to him in surprise, the black ring from his dream flashing in front of his vision. </p><p>Marriage isn’t brutal. Everyone knows that. Nathan is basically the most brutal guy in the world, so factually, he should not like marriage. However, he wouldn’t be...uh, opposed, to such a thing. With Pickles. The thing is, is Nathan has already thought about this. Kind of a lot, actually. When he’s in love, that’s just what he does - he thinks about hand holding and marriage and all that gay shit, and he’d come to the conclusion that palling around and getting disgustingly old and only loving Pickles forever doesn't seem so bad. </p><p>Would Pickles really be interested in that with him, though? And that raises a follow-up question: why would he be? Sure, his dick is as big as a shoe, and he’s probably not the worst boyfriend alive. But marriage is like, forever. Pickles would have to want him <em>forever</em>. The thought alone makes him blush a bit, and he looks at Skwisgaar to see how he’s handling the topic being thrown at him. </p><p>The blonde raises an eyebrow, and the old version of himself would’ve been sent into cardiac arrest at the mere mention of such a commitment. He had always been in a firm believer of the institution of marriage only being good for tax breaks and adultery, but. If he still seems to think this, he doesn’t say it. He merely tips his chin up airily, “I haves some...ideas.” </p><p>Well fuck. Honestly, with all the fear of monogamy that Skwisgaar had previously expressed, Nathan definitely didn’t expect him to be so good at being someone’s boyfriend. But he is - the blonde has Toki totally spoiled. Skwisgaar is so...openly affectionate, always at Toki’s side, writing him solos and flaunting their relationship in public, and it’s so unlike the Swede that sometimes Nathan wonders if he’s slipped into the wrong reality or something. </p><p>Before anyone can say more, Toki rounds the corner and walks into the room, Twinkletits trailing behind him. He’s already covered in banana stickers, hair tied up into a ponytail, and his eyes light up when he sees Skwisgaar. The brunette takes his seat and the blonde’s outstretched hand in unison, and he looks tired - but his eyes aren’t empty or bleeding, and he’s got the same air of contented peacefulness about him that Skwisgaar has had these days. </p><p>“Alright! Now that everybody’s here, we can get started on a little rock talkin’, yeah? I know you guys got shit to do today, so we're gonna try to keep it nice ‘n quick!” Twinkletits beams, gesturing for the three of them to take their seats. Murderface looks highly irritated as he slumps down; Pickles and Nathan try to put up the front that they’re being inconvenienced, as their hands easily slip into each other’s underneath the table. </p><p>“So, how are we doing?” Their therapist pyramids his fingers together underneath his nose. Everyone just kind of stares at him, because while they’re willing to show up to this shit they really don’t like actively participating, and Twinkletits never really expects an answer anyways. He’s chipper as ever as he continues, “Murderface, let’s start with you! You got any good cries in lately?” </p><p>“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Murderface glares, arms crossed, and that’s another thing that’s been extra iffy with the guy lately. Everyone has noticed that their bassist has been more emotional, ever since Toki died and he let himself cry for the first time in maybe ever - and he's had a really hard time leashing that shit. He'll accidentally blurt out feelings he's having, something will make him upset and he'll run out of the room before he bursts into tears - it's all almost like he's lost all control of his emotional filter. Nathan didn’t even know Murderface had emotions. </p><p>“It’s normal - it’s fuckin’ <em>metal</em> - to show emotions. Okay? There’s nothing wrong with it! Remember, I told you to let yourself have one good cry a day?” Twinkletits asks amiably. </p><p>“NO! Crying is for PUSSIESCH!” Murderface hisses, face reddening, tears starting to rise, and he quickly puts his face in his hands so nobody will see him deal with his emotional overload. It takes the tiniest things to set him off lately, and honestly, it's kind of...upsetting, in a pathetic kind of way. If Nathan could ever depend on anything never changing, he'd have thought it would've been Murderface's almost supernatural ability to be an uncaring dick.</p><p>Twinkletits visibly prepares himself for a violent reaction as he says carefully, “I heard you’re still takin’ the fifth wheel’ thing pretty hard, huh?” </p><p>Murderface instantly slams a hand down on the table, eyes watery, “I am NOT the FUCKING fifth wheel! How many timesch do I have to fucking schay it?! Juscht because I don’t fuck all my bandmates like fucking Picklesch doeschn’t mean I’m not confident in my schingle lifeschtyle!”</p><p>Pickles merely raises the joint he’s currently trying to spark in cheers, unphased by the jab, but Nathan suddenly feels kinda crabby about it. His eyes narrow again, “What was that, Murderface?” </p><p>The bassist has the decency to backtrack, “Nothing! Itsch just—! WHATEVER! I could fuck whoever I fucking want to, thatsch all!”</p><p>“Murderface, that’s good that you feel that way. You’re single because you’re a fuckin’ rockstar!” Twinkletits claps, distributing Murderface a banana sticker, and their bassist’s pout lessens as he takes it. “Okay, who’s next? Pickles!” </p><p>“Oh gahd,” Pickles sighs, puffing on his joint uneasily. “Dood, I’m fine, actually. I--”</p><p>“Oh yeah, mister? You’re fine? Because I heard someone had a little anxiety attack the other day.” Twinkletits says knowingly, and their drummer’s face flushes a bit as he looks away. Nathan fidgets a bit uncomfortably in his seat, because he was actually the one who told Charles about that. He’s not a fucking snitch or anything, but...he’s been worried about how many anxiety attacks Pickles has been having lately, and they’re all usually caused by the same trigger: Magnus. </p><p>Said anxiety attack happened the other night, when the two of them were watching an old Dethklok highlights reel. While their old rhythm guitarist wasn’t in the video, the band started playing “The Hammer” - Magnus’ song. The minute he heard the first telltale notes, Pickles just freaked the fuck out. Nathan had to throw himself out of bed and tear apart Pickles’ bathroom until he found his drummer’s inhaler, and he spent the rest of the night holding Pickles close, watching him chain-smoke joints and pop pills until he stopped shaking and passed out. Unfortunately...this wouldn't be the first time something like this has happened. </p><p>“Okey, whatever. One ‘lil anxiety attack. I’m alreet,” Pickles shrugs a shoulder stubbornly, face still flushed, and Nathan feels kinda bad about telling Charles at all now. He didn’t know his manager was gonna fucking tell Twinkletits, and bring it up in front of everyone. Nathan tries to be helpful, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand, “Hey. There’s nothing, uh, wrong with anxiety. We all have it, and we’re all metal. Therefore, anxiety is metal.” </p><p>“Ja, Pickle! The panics attacks am brutals, and thats am nothins to be embarrassed abouts. I haves them all the times!” Toki offers, trying to be helpful, but Pickles’ face instantly falls. The redhead stares holes into the hand that’s braced on his own knee, which bounces furiously, and Nathan feels frustratingly helpless. "There ams things you can dos to stops them befores they gets too bads. Like goin to your happies place! That's what Abigails always told mes to does." </p><p>"Happy place? Whatsch that?" Murderface squints. "I have no referenche for happinessch. It’sch too gay.” </p><p>"You knows! Likes, a reallies good moment in yous life," Toki says, leaning back against Skwisgaar. "Mines ams when Skwisgaar picksed mes to be in the bands, or when we was on our forst tour in Chicago."</p><p>Nathan tries to think about what moment would be his happy place, but his brain stalls out and he kind of comes up blank. How can you sift through an entire lifetime, and settle on one defining moment that can keep you grounded? Pickles must be wondering the same thing, because he raises a studded eyebrow and asks, "But how d'ya know what moment is...y'know, the right one?" </p><p>"When you reallies needs to be theres, you just knows," Toki says solmenly, eyes gleaming as he turns back to smile at Skwisgaar. The blonde mirrors his expression, leaning forward to kiss him, but Twinkletits points at them before their lips can connect, “Hey! We’ve talked about this, you two! No kissing during rock talk! Not after what happened last time!”</p><p>“That ams a stupids rule! You guys just ams babies,” Skwisgaar huffs airily, even though “last time” consisted of them all having to evacuate the room before they saw their guitarists in a scenario that they definitely didn’t want to be seeing. “Amnst this all abouts the ‘brotherly loves’ and shits?” </p><p>Pickles levels him with a look, “Comin’ from someone with an actual sibling, thet ain’t brutherly love, chief.” </p><p>“YEAH! We SHOULD be rock talking about PDA rulesch! We’re schick of thosche two always schoving their schtupid beautiful love in our facesch!” </p><p>“No! We’re talking about Pickles!” Twinkletits says, ringing the little bell he has at the end of the table for when the conversation starts to get derailed. He pauses to make sure everyone is done talking, then continues, “Look. Pickles. Your bandmates are right, there’s nothing wrong with the way your body reacts to trauma. Have you been taking your pills?” </p><p>“Fuck yeah I have,” Pickles grins crookedly, patting his pocket, which jostles with the unmistakeable sound of a pill bottle shaking. His grin falters a bit, and he picks at his wristbands uneasily, “I don’t...uh. Certain shit just triggers it, y’know? If I don’t hear or think about it, ‘m okey.” </p><p>“Would you be comfortable telling the band what triggered this one, so they can make sure to avoid it in the future?” Twinkletits asks, and Pickles instantly tenses. It’s been an unspoken rule, not to talk about their old rhythm guitarist. Ever. The last time his name was mentioned, Toki did the thing where he just kinda shut himself off, Murderface got all pissy and emotional, Skwisgaar went into a silently blind rage, and evidently, Pickles simply went spiraling. Nathan can’t figure out what Pickles feels so...guilty about, when it comes to Magnus. Maybe because it was how close of friends they used to be, or that Pickles was the one to bring him into the band, but...Nathan’s concerned that whatever guilt he’s harboring is tearing him apart. </p><p>“I dunno. Fuckin....” he hesitates, and his eyes bounce over to Toki nervously. Guilt flashes across his features, and then he’s shaking his head, “No, it’s, it’s fine, like I said. I don’t needa tahk about it.” </p><p>Twinkletits looks like he wants to get to the bottom of Pickles’ guilt as much as Nathan does, but he merely gives Pickles a refill of his pills along with a sticker, voice solemn, “No problems are solved in a day, Pickles. You’re trying, you’re doing fuckin’ great, and we’re all proud of you!” </p><p>Pickles sighs, relieved to be out of the spotlight as he pockets the items, “Yeeah. Thanks, dood.” </p><p>“Let’s see how your boyfriend is doin’, huh?” Twinkletits leers at Nathan, who instantly tenses. He hates this part, when he's expected to talk about his fucking feelings in front of his friends, and they just stare at him and wait for him to talk like he’s a fucking zoo animal or something. But he knows that as the band leader, if he doesn’t submit then neither will they. And he wants them to get better. So he sighs, growling out, “What.”</p><p>"Anything you wanna talk about?" </p><p>"Not, uh. Not...particularly. I'm alright." </p><p>"Any anxiety? Fear? Newfound issues spurred from trauma?" </p><p>"No. I mean, I don't know. As long as everyone's...uh, safe, then, I'm fine. And clearly everyone is in one piece, so..." Nathan grumbles, struggling with his words, because while he wants to contribute to the discussion he just really isn't great with verbalizing his feelings. And he really does feel like he's fine - if he knows where he bandmates are, then he has nothing to worry about. His biggest fear is one of them being taken away from him again, and Twinkletits clearly can tell, saying easily, "And you're not worried about leaving the band for your trip?" </p><p>Nathan frowns, because he's been trying really hard to convince himself that the other guys will be okay without him and Pickles there, but he can't help but feel a tiny bit nervous about being away from them. He shrugs a bulky shoulder, "These guys are grown...men-children. They'll be fine without us for a couple weeks." </p><p>“Oh yeeeuh, you two ams goingks on yous big imporktants sex-cation,” Skwisgaar leers at them with a suggestive smile, and Nathan flushes head to toe as Pickles barks out a good-natured laugh. </p><p>“Huh. Sex-cation. Meybe we should start callin’ it thet instead,” Pickles grins as he nudges Nathan, who blushes wildly as he huffs and looks away. “Whet? It’s naht like they don’t know it’s goin’ down!” </p><p>Toki and Skwisgaar start snickering as Murderface inhales sharply through the gap in his clenched teeth, and Twinkletits beams, “Look at you two! So fuckin’ cute! Give us a kiss!” </p><p>“What. Fuck you,” Nathan growls, blush worsening, and Pickles grins crookedly at his shyness. He knows his drummer is perpetually surprised, to see this new side of him. The side that’s shy and way too gentle and...soft, like a fucking baby, but that’s just how he is when he loves someone.</p><p>Skwisgaar leers at him, “Comes on, Nathans! Don’t be such a babies, and kiss yous mans!” </p><p>“Wh--? No! I thought theresch no kissching during rock talk!” Murderface protests, crossing his arms as he looks away.</p><p>“Yeahs! Why does Pickle and Nathans get to does it?” Toki exclaims, lip jutting out in a pout. “Whats about Toki?” </p><p>“Kissing is only allowed if I say so,” Twinkletits tilts his chin up haughtily. He shoos a hand at them, “Go! Go!” </p><p>“Ugh,” Nathan rolls his eyes, but he’d never turn down an opportunity to kiss Pickles, even if it’s in front of the guys. Pickles grins crookedly at him before the two of them share a quick kiss, and he can practically feel Skwisgaar, Toki, and Twinkletits looking at them with matching cheesy smiles. Murderface has his hands over his face, pointedly trying not to look. Nathan pulls away, unable to keep the loving expression off his face even as he glares at their audience, “There. Happy?” </p><p>“Yes, actually. Happy for you two, my little fuckin’ superstars,” Twinkletits beams, handing them some more stickers. Finally, he turns his attention away from the two of them, eyes on Toki and Skwisgaar. Dethklok, as a whole, has been through a lot. But Toki and Skwisgaar, they really got the brunt of it, and while they’re both enjoying their happy ending together, there’s still some things that need to be handled before they shred off into the sunset.</p><p>Twinkletits looks to the blonde, who cocks a bored eyebrow, and levels him with a look, “Skwisgaar. How was last night?” </p><p>“Euuuhhh, it...we hads a good times playingks the guitars?” Skwisgaar offers sheepishly, Toki mirroring his guilty expression as Twinkletits glares at them. Toki has had...kind of a hard time readjusting to things since he's come home. He’s terrified to be alone, which he doesn't really have to worry about with Skwisgaar constantly keeping him company, but the kid can't even shower by himself without being sent into hysterics. He won't take his shirt off around them, he won't go anywhere without a hoard of security, sometimes he gets these little panic attacks where he claws at his throat and Skwisgaar has to shake him until he comes back to reality. He's doing way better now than he was a year ago, but it’s widely known around Mordhaus that Toki’s been having nightmares about his time with Magnus. </p><p>Nathan’s room is on the very bottom floor, and even still, sometimes he hears the way that the brunette screams himself awake in a terror. Toki’s newest approach to this is to stop sleeping altogether, and Skwisgaar stays up with him without blinking an eye. Twinkletits, however, is not a fan of this, and he glares, “What did I tell you two about staying up all night? Skwisgaar, you have to be firm on this!” </p><p>“We’re sorries!” Toki squeaks, looking very tired as he wrings his hands. “I didnst means to keeps him up, I just...” </p><p>“You both need sleep, Toki,” Twinkletits stresses. “How are you supposed to deal with everything, if you don’t let yourself work through the nightmares?” </p><p>“Buts I...” </p><p>Toki trails off, wringing his hands, and Skwisgaar quickly butts in, “Looks, we tries to does what you says and sleep. It amnst workingks, he still gets dems nightsmares. It ams just...easiors for him to stays up then sleeps for twenties minutes and wakes up screamingks. I reallies donts minds nappingks throughout the days insteads.” </p><p>“It’s not about you ‘not minding,’ it’s about Toki making progress with his inner demons. No pun intended,” Twinkletits winks, and Skwisgaar’s eyes instantly narrow. </p><p>“That amnst funnies,” he glares bitterly, shoulders bristling, and Toki’s face softens as he puts his hand on top of the blonde’s. </p><p>“Skwisgaar, it ams okays,” the brunette promises, patting his hand. He turns to Twinkletits, “I’ve been through enough of this shits to knows that the onlies way for me to get past the nightsmares is to lets myself haves them, and work through it...It’s just. I can almost feels it all overs agains, when I dreams about...you-knows-whos...” </p><p>Pickles’ hand tenses violently in Nathan’s, and Skwisgaar’s entire body straightens, left eye twitching. Fuck. Toki suddenly looks equally as guilty as the rest of them, but for a different reason. He still won’t tell them anything that Magnus did to him while he was in captivity, clearly trying to spare their feelings. Pickles isn’t the only one who blames himself - Nathan’s heard hushed conversations, on many occasions, where Toki swears up and down to Skwisgaar that he doesn’t blame him. That it’s not his fault, that he needs to let it go and stop torturing himself, but the blonde is too stubborn to believe him. </p><p>Sure enough, Toki says almost desperately, “Heys, it amnst a big deals, okays? I don’t cares about the nightsmares. It’s barelies anything, compared to...”</p><p>He stops himself, as Skwisgaar’s expression falls into something even more tortured. Pickles looks over at Nathan, still nervous and twitchy and sad, and Nathan suddenly remembers that this is the actual reason that he hates these therapy sessions. Because shit like this happens, and reminds them just how much they’re all hurting underneath the surface.  </p><p>“Wells, I cares about thems,” Skwisgaar looks away, shoulders hunched up. “I just watches you sufferinks and I can’t does anythingks to--”</p><p>“Nuh-uh, nos, nones of that,” Toki’s voice leaves no room for argument, as he cups Skwisgaar’s face, forcing him to look at him. “You does more for mes than anyones. Beins there when I wakes up is enough, and you takes the fear aways and makes me feel real safe and loveds...” He trails off, then swallows, eyelashes fluttering as his voice drops into something more fragile, “I’m real...happies, with yous. I never thoughts I would be this happies.” </p><p>Skwisgaar doesn’t look like he completely believes him - typical - but his eyes are still shining with emotion and Toki’s not-brutal-but-very-sweet words. "Does we have pormissions to kiss nows?" Skwisgaar demands more than asks, and Twinkletits beams as he waves a hand happily. The minute he has the okay, the two of them instantly launch themselves into an intense makeout session. </p><p>“God, it’sch one of thosche thingsch, like a car accident, where you wanna look away, but…” Murderface trails off, eyes wide, and he, Pickles, Nathan, and Twinkletits all tilt their heads in varying degrees of discomfort as they watch the scene in front of them. </p><p>“Geezy,” Twinkletits huffs. “You’d think after all this time they’d calm down a little!” </p><p>“Knowing these two, thet ain’t likely.” </p><p>After Skwisgaar and Toki sneak out of the room, their group therapy session comes to a close. Twinkletits seems satisfied with how everyone’s doing - even though Nathan’s concerned about how everyone is still so affected by their trauma, he does have to agree that it’s progress.</p><p>The frontman spends the rest of the day in the recording studio, sighing and staring pensively at an empty notebook. Not to be like, disgusting or anything. But…like Skwisgaar mentioned earlier, the one-year anniversary of the day Toki got his memories back is in a matter of days. Which also happens to be the day that Pickles and Nathan became a couple. They’ve been together for a year - which, in the grand scheme of their entire friendship is just a blip, but...it means a lot, to Nathan, that they even made it here at all. He doesn’t know if Pickles is super into this type of romantic crap, but Nathan still wants to make it special.</p><p>In addition to the Metallica tickets, Skwisgaar has been planning a wild ‘rebirthday’ party for Toki, basically ever since their rhythm guitarist came back from the dead. Which is super metal, but that knocks out Nathan’s original idea of throwing Pickles the most intense rager he’s ever been to. And they’re already going on their boyfriender-bender, so an anniversary trip to some deep-sea trench had to be ruled out as well. This has left Nathan trying to do something that he’s never really been good at - expressing his feelings. In the form of a dark, brutal love song. </p><p>He’s having something of a writer’s block, however - maybe it’s just his nerves getting the better of him, or the uncomfortable itch that he gets when he knows he has to make something by a certain deadline. Something deep in his heart tells him, however, that it might just be the terrifying idea of exposing his heart to Pickles like this. He wants to do it right, and he wants Pickles to like it. It has to be perfect, if his drummer is supposed to understand how exactly he feels.  </p><p>Nathan holes himself up in the recording studio, basically just trapped in a cycle of writing things down, tearing them out, huffing dramatically, shoving chips into his mouth. The frontman falls asleep at the piano, head on the keys, and if he’d been awake he’d have noticed Charles come in. Their manager struggles for a moment to get one of Nathan’s big arms around his shoulder, then starts walking him down to the entertainment room. </p><p>“Writing, ah. A song for Pickles?” Charles asks as Nathan grumbles sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. </p><p>“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone, or I’l...kill you….” Nathan mutters with a yawn. </p><p>Charles gets this pensive, worried frown on his face, “He’ll like that. It’s...very sweet of you.” </p><p>“Ugh. I know. Shut up.” </p><p>“Pickles had an idea for everyone to camp out on the couch tonight. Try and keep Toki comfortable in case he has any nightmares,” Charles says, and Nathan hums in response as he leans all his weight against the manager. He’s strong enough to hold him up, and eventually, Charles lowers him down onto the couch. He gets a waft of Skwisgaar’s beachy shampoo on his right, and the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and weed and garbage can cologne on his left. Murderface and Toki are on the other side of Skwisgaar, bickering about something, when Pickles curls up against him and whispers, <em> ‘I love you, dood,’ </em>Nathan finally feels content for the first time in awhile. </p><p>Everyone's safe, and as long as they're together, it's all going to be okay. Right?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. midnight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so much fluff in this chapter (and also some mface angst). do not be fooled, angst approacheth</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Skwisgaar Skwigelf prides himself on a lot of things - he is, after all, a talented, beautiful, glowing guitar god. He’s the fastest guitarist in the world, he’s envied by all due to his massive amounts of money and good looks. However, there’s one thing that now tops it all - being the master of monogamy.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When Toki came back to life with all his memories intact, it wasn’t the question of if they’d enter a relationship - it was the question of how Skwisgaar would handle it. He’s never been monogamous with anyone in his life - has never been in any type of relationship - and he really, really couldn’t afford to fuck this up. He’s not losing Toki again, that’s for sure, and he’s not going to be a failure again, either.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>“Good luck, Toki,”</em> Murderface had said one evening, a night or two after Toki had remembered everything. <em>“I think Skwischgaar is the one perschon in the entire world that would be worsche at a relationschip than me. And I’m schelf-aware enough to know that I’d fucking shuck at it!”</em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When someone tells Skwisgaar he can’t do something, it not only makes him want to do it more, but it makes him want to become the best at it. And Toki deserves the best, after everything Skwisgaar put him through the last time they tried to take their friendship into a romantic territory. This is their happy ending - and by god, he’ll do whatever he has to in order to get them there. Right now, the nightmares are their biggest obstacle, and being as stubborn as he is, Skwisgaar is dead set on fixing this for Toki...he's just not exactly sure how, yet. <span class="Apple-converted-space"><br/></span></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The following day after their weekly group therapy session with Twinkletits, daylight flies by way too fast. He can feel Toki getting more and more tense as the sun sets, can see the way he opens his mouth to put up a fight when Skwisgaar tells him they should start getting ready for bed. They take it easy as they do their nighttime routine - Skwisgaar making a complaining Norwegian participate in his extensive skincare routine, palling around and shoving at each other as they see who can brush their teeth the fastest, showering until the hot water runs cold even though they're both too distracted to notice the change in temperature.<br/></span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Euuughuhueuheuhh. Now you ams all tuckereds out, huhs? Yous will sleeps like de big babies tonights,” Skwisgaar flips his wet hair back over his shoulder, as the two of them walk out of the shower hand-in-hand. Toki looks impossibly cute in Skwisgaar’s fluffy monogrammed bathrobe, and he does indeed look tired - possibly just from the lack of sleep, but Skwisgaar still pats himself on the back anyways, because he knows he’s good at what he does regardless.</span> <span class="s2">He makes sure his bed is as cozy as he could possibly make it, then looks to his rhythm guitarist, “You ams readies for dreamlands, Toki?”</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The brunette’s face is still deliciously flushed, but he’s looking increasingly nervous as he breaks their hand holding to pace around anxiously, “Eehhh, maybes we should you-knows-whats again! Or hey, we could head back downstairs and watch some TVs, or goes out and gets some ice creams, or wake up Nathans and Pickle to pals around and double dates, or see what Charlie ams—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Toki, you ams doesing your nervous blah blah thing—“ Skwisgaar tries to level with him, stop the panic before it begins, but the brunette just keeps barreling on.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I just amnst veries tireds, you knows?” he tries to flash a smile, but it comes off more as a wobbly grimace. “It amnst even that lates, eehehh, there’s still tons of stuff we can gets up to—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Helloooos,” Skwisgaar tries again, waving a hand in front of his face, “Earth to Tokis, you gots a beautiful and talenteds guys right here what ams tryings to takes you to bed and you ams ignorings him...”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“—Everyone ams asleeps, so I can gets in de hot tub now without them seesing me shirtsless. Or hey, maybe we coulds practice guitars a littles, plays our duets or somethins—I-I just....” his voice drops off into something quiet and injured, the anxious mania replaced with exhaustion as his shoulders slump. “I-I just don’t wants to goes back theres, tonight.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Skwisgaar knows where ‘there’ is, of course, and his own face almost falls into an anxious sadness. But he can’t let it show - he has to be strong. No failure boyfriends here today. Toki looks so tired, so anxious, and the blonde sits back on the bad as he opens his arms, and the Norwegian's expression breaks just a little bit as he practically falls into him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You just gots to work throughs it,” Skwisgaar says, nuzzling the side of his face. “The only way to makes them go away is to lets them run their course. And when you wakes up freakingks out, I’ll be right heres to calms you downs.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I knows you ams,” Toki smiles shakily against the other man’s blonde hair. His shoulders slump a bit, as he sighs dejectedly, “I’m sorries you gots to puts up with this shits. I don’ts—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I would does anything, as long as I gots you heres next to mes,” Skwisgaar says firmly, and he means that. After the previous year, of Toki being in captivity and a coma for a grand total of eight months, dealing with the brunette’s bad dreams is a small price to pay. “Comes here, lets get you all comfortablies.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Toki’s always been a snuggler - pretty much from day one, when the two of them had to share a mattress in their old shitty apartment, he’s clung to the blonde like a koala to a tree. Ten years later, not much has changed; the Norwegian squirms into his arms, nose to Skwisgaar’s chest, pressing himself as close as possible. The Swede sighs contentedly as he gets his arms around him, stroking loosely at brunette locks as he nuzzles kisses into the crown of Toki’s head.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Cozy?” Skwisgaar murmurs, eliciting a sleepy nod in response. He knows their comfortable position will be broken in just a couple hours, when his partner wakes up flailing and screaming and sobbing, but he’ll enjoy the moments before and after. He’s just happy to be here, with him - no eye blood, no empty expressions, no unfamiliarity. One year, he’s had him back, and it still feels like yesterday that he was gone.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Jeg elsker deg</em>, Skwisgaar,” Toki yawns, giving him a little squeeze. “Sweet dreams.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Mm, I loves you too, dildo,” Skwisgaar hums, the words he’d been once so terrified to say rolling off his tongue so wonderfully easily. He’s starting to doze off in their warm embrace too, and he whispers, “sweet dreams” back to him, hoping that tonight is the night those words actually apply.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Unfortunately, it is not.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He wakes up about two hours later, to Toki thrashing in his arms and fighting for breath in between wails of agony. He nearly elbows Skwisgaar in the nose as he violently claws at his own throat, tears rolling down his face, and the blonde feels his heart shatter like it does every other night he has to see someone he loves so much suffer so badly. It never starts to hurt less, even after seeing it a thousand times over, and he feels like a small, helpless jackoff as usual.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Stops, stops,” Toki gasps to the Magnus in his dreams, voice slurred from sleep, “Please, makes it stops...”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Skwisgaar swallows thickly, pushing the brunette’s hair off his sweat-slicked forehead as he waits for him to come out on the other side. Back when this first started, the blonde would try and end the nightmare for him by shaking him awake or giving his face a light smack, but being torn out of it seems to be much more discombobulating for him than just powering through it himself. All he can do is wait for him to ride it through.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">As expected, it only takes Toki about twenty minutes of screaming and sobbing for his eyes to finally snap open. He gasps desperately for air, hand scrabbling over the scar on his ribcage. “Oh...oh gods, oh fucks, it hurts....” He pulls back his fingers, checking for blood like he’d just been freshly stabbed, and confused when they come back clean. “Whhuhh? Where ams...?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Skwisgaar’s frame is shaking just a bit, but he tries to be as strong as he can when Toki realizes that he’s not anywhere else but in the blonde’s bed with him. “Skwisgaar?” he croaks out, reaching instantly for him, icy blue eyes tearful and pleading. “It ams yous?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It ams mes,” he whispers, crushing him close, planting kisses all over the brunette’s temples, right where he used to get those splitting headache pains from Salacia inhabiting his brain. “It ams all okays now.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Skwisgaar takes the next hour calming Toki down, holding him until the shaking begins to subside and his breathing begins to even out. He has a feeling neither of them will be getting back to sleep, but the fact that he got the brunette to even try is progress.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Toki, eeh...” Skwisgaar struggles for how to properly express what he’s been really wanting to say since the moment his partner got this memories back. “You knows you can talks to me about what happened to you, ja?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Toki swallows, eyes lowering, and he nods his head. Unconvinced, Skwisgaar tries again, “It mights help, to not keeps it all bottled up in deres. I would be...happies to listen.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They both can hear the lie, but neither acknowledges it past two pairs of blue eyes darting around nervously. God, Skwisgaar knows he’s pathetic. He knows he should want to be there for Toki, and he <em>does</em> - but he could go the rest of his life without hearing what Magnus put Toki through. Just thinking about it sends that familiar itch to drown his sorrows out through his veins, and he tries not to think about the overdose that Toki would be devastated over, if he knew about it.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It ams midsnight,” Toki whispers, the white glow of Skwisgaar’s alarm clock bouncing off of his tired eyes. “You know what dat means?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeeuh. Of course I does,” Skwisgaar smirks at him, bumping their noses together. He whispers, hoping to convey how much this day means to him in a single phrase, “Happies anniversaries, Tokis.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Happies anniversaries, Skwis,” Toki smiles, tired eyes shining with a thousand stars. At both of their cores - the Norwegian’s, especially - they’re relatively romantic people. Occasions like this are extremely important to them, especially this one. One year ago today, Toki came back to him in every sense of the word - as his bandmate, his friend, his muse, and his love. Skwisgaar’s life got its meaning back, and he thinks about both the Metallica tickets and the ring box that’s been sitting in his dresser drawer since the morning of Roy Cornickelson’s funeral, and he smiles to himself.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s has a lot of lost time that he needs to make up for, and nothing is going to get in the way of their happy ending.</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“...So excellent we have him under our control...”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“....Can he hear us, Master...?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“....Yes, he’s coming to...”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Murderface is hit with a white, blinding light as his eyes force themselves open, and he faintly realizes he’s dreaming again. Everything is hazy and blurring, and he gets that flu-like feeling spinning through his head again as he squints through all the static and tries to make out what the fuck is going on. Where is he? Who’s voices are those?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“William. It’s midnight. Today is the day.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“What...day?” He hears himself ask, tongue thick in his mouth as he tries to scrub at his own face. His hands are tied down, he realizes somehow - when he tries to move his feet, he gets the same restrictive results. He’d forgotten his dream from last time, but it comes back to him now; he wonders again - how is he feeling sensations? How is he dreaming at all, after a lifetime of never having done it?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Figures slowly start to appear in his line of vision, leaning over him and looking down at him - that general-looking guy, the toothy bearded man, and teenaged Pickles again. He’s dreaming about his friend, and a couple of old dudes? That’s...gay, and he goes to complain about his dumb gay brain, but he’s cut off by a palm over his mouth, sharp fingernails digging into the meat of his cheeks.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“It’s only fitting that we start...training him now,” Pickles says to the other men, but his voice is all wrong - it’s completely void of its usual Wisconsin twang, instead replaced with something sinister and low and scratchy. His eyes snap to Murderface’s, warping a rainbow of different colors, and he feels his own jaw go slack as his mind melts into blankness almost instantly.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Toki got his life back exactly one year ago today, and in the same moment, yours ended. Your bandmates coupled up and left you out. You became the...what is it, that they call you? The fifth wheel? How demeaning,” Pickles whispers, and that violent urge to protest his new title practically strangles him. The hand over his mouth and that nagging feeling in the back of his head that the title is fitting keeps him from any outbursts.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">The redhead continues in that grating voice, “Let me ask you a question, William. How do you picture your own future?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Obviously not a question he’s supposed to answer, as the fingers over his mouth only tighten. If he was supposed to respond, he isn’t even sure what he’d say. “Your bandmates’ futures lie in each other. How long are Toki and Skwisgaar going to keep doing this, before they succumb to their domesticity and retire? How long can you, realistically, watch Nathan and Pickles together before it tears you apart?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“You could be great, William. They don’t even treat you like an equal, when you should be the star,” the bearded man says, icy eyes staring into nothing as his shadowed form looms overhead. “Dethklok wouldn’t even exist without you having orchestrated it. And what do you get in return? Abandonment. Just like your parents did, just like Pickles did when he left with his band...”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Past the rainbow of colors swirling in his eyes, Murderface feels the telltale prickle of tears. Fuck his bandmates, seriously - everything these dicks are saying is right. It feels nice to be appreciated, and the hand that reaches for his brain is way too easy to let inside. Almost shamefully so.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“They’re going to leave you behind. They think you’re disposable, unneeded. They tell you how worthless your role is all the time. You need to start looking out for yourself,” Pickles says, and Murderface feels this vice-like grip over his brain, squeezing violently as the claws dig in, and he nods his head numbly in agreement. “You need to do whatever you can to tear them apart. You need to go the basement, and flip the switch. Embrace the darkness inside of yourself, and you will finally get the glory you deserve.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Master,” the general says, voice sounding a bit frantic. “We’re losing our signal. Someone is trying to wake him up.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Murderface slowly feels himself begin to snap out of whatever trance this dream-version of Pickles had put him into, and he makes this groggy noise as the edges of his hazy vision begin to shake and crack.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“Just follow my words. They will lead you toward the ending,” Pickles whispers, pointed fingernails digging into his face, and suddenly, the dream pops like a bubble.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> Murderface gasps as his eyes slam open, and he’s completely discombobulated as he realizes he’s...standing in one of Mordhaus’ many hallways, even though he went to sleep in his bed about two miles away.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Moidaface,” Toki’s voice is absolutely jarring to hear, and he blinks violently as he whips to see the brunette standing there worriedly, looking tired and holding a glass of water. “I knows they says not to wakes up de sleepswalkers, but you was lookins reallies weird for a second dere...ams you okays?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m....I’m fucking fine,” Murderface spits, raising a shaky hand to his forehead as he wobbles on his feet. “W-What the fuck am I doing out of bed?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“I haves no ideas. Yous saids somethins in yous sleep about goins to the basement,” Toki offers, dumb blue eyes looking worried - </span> <em> <span class="s3">as if he care</span> </em> <span class="s2"><em>s.</em> But he’s right about the basement thing, apparently, because the bassist realizes he had indeed been headed there in his sleep. But why? What’s down there? </span> <em> <span class="s3">Flip the switch.</span> <span class="s2">  </span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Juscht...whatever. Itsch whatever,” Murderface says, shaking his head as he tries to storm away - but then he loses his balance in his half-asleep confusion, and Toki’s strong hands reach out and catch him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The moment the brunette’s palms wrap around one of Murderface’s arms, Toki gasps and jumps backwards like he’d been burned. The two of them stare at each other - the Norwegian suddenly looking sick and terrified and confused, and oddly enough...the bassist doesn’t feel anything at all. Nothing. None of the usual pity and emotional overload he gets when he looks at Dethklok’s youngest member, none of the brotherly love that he’s tried so hard to repress. He just hears the whispering in his head, and he embraces it, loves it, lets it pour over his brain like a thick poison as he soaks it all in. He feels powerful. Unstoppable.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“What’s the fucks? Moidaface...?” Toki breathes, looking at the hues of purple that bulge through the veins in the bassist’s arms, and Murderface quickly covers himself before the other man can get a good look. </span> <em> <span class="s3">Dont blow our cover yet. If they know I’m in your head, they’ll kill you, just like they did to Toki. They’d stab you in the back in an instant, just like they did to him.</span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Calm your titsch, Toki. Jeschusch. Go back to fucking bed,” Murderface snaps defensively. “Skwischgaar’s probably losching hisch schit being apart from you for one second. Codependent asschole.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">His own words give him a spark of an idea, however. Skwisgaar is hopeless for Toki, someone who, in the bassist’s opinion, is nowhere near close to the blonde’s league. The Norwegian must have some kind of trick or skill that Murderface isn’t aware of, and the voice whispers for him to </span> <em> <span class="s3">win Pickles back, it’s now or never, break them up just like you put them together, take what you want before it’s too late, what do you have to lose?</span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Toki looks unimpressed with the jab that had been fired at him moments prior, “Fucks you, don’t change the subjects. There obviouslies ams somethins wrong what’s makes you sleepwalks like dis. You can talks to Toki about it, I haves troubles sleepins too—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey. I have a queschtion,” Murderface interrupts, and Toki raises an eyebrow at him (a gesture he’d picked up from Skwisgaar, clearly, as he pairs it with this salty lip pout and stoic expression). He’s not walking away, so the bassist barrels on, “You gotta tell me. How did you get Schwischgaar to want to be gay with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Toki looks absolutely shocked at the question, jaw dropping slightly before he quickly slams it shut and squeaks in question, “Eeeyyh?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You...liked him for a long time, right? Before you guysch...got together,” Murderface asks hesitantly, staring at his own grimy fingernails, and the brunette stares at him for a couple more seconds before replying.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Ja,” Toki says slowly, clearly waiting for this to turn into some type of joke at his expense, for Murderface to throw a finger at him and call him gay, but it doesn’t come. The bassist just picks at his nails, chewing his bottom lip, and Toki continues hesitantly, “I...likes him for years before we finallies starts beins romanticals.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“And he didn’t...like you back for a while, at first? And he didn’t realize he wanted you and not all hisch dumb slutsch, until after Magnusch fucked you up? Scho it took time. Took...tragedy, maybe...”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Toki winces at the mention of Magnus’ name, but quickly tries to recover, clearing his throat. “Well, I always kinds of thoughts he likes me? You knows, I catches him lookins at me, or he always tries to sit real close to mes...I didnst reallies knows at first ‘til I laids one on him. Dat ams the onlies way to find out.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“But—“ Murderface wrings his hands, “Me and thisch....girl. Yeah, thisch girl, who’sch definitely not Picklesch—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Why woulds it be Pickle?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“ITSCH NOT! God! Lischten!” Murderface waves his hands, face burning. “He—she kissched me a long time ago, and—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Like how longs?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Murderface is quiet for a couple beats, muttering, “Twenty yearsch.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh wowee,” Toki gapes, eyes wide as his friend curls in on himself further. “You waits this long to tries and kiss her agains?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“He—sche’sch alwaysch got her head up schomebody elsche’sch assch! Sche...hasch a...boyfriend, but...” Murderface wrings his hands, and he has no idea what’s gotten into him and why he’s talking about his dumb crush to fucking Toki. It should be embarrassing, terrifying - but all he feels is numbness, and the urge to finally tell Pickles how he feels before Nathan wins and they cast him out.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Well, a lot coulds have been avoided with Skwisgaar and me if we woulds have talked to each others about our feelins instead of bein dumb dildos,” Toki says, nodding his head. “You gots to put youself first sometimes, insteads of doin what’s best for the band or for someone else.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s3">You need to start looking out for yourself. </span> <span class="s2">Murderface nods slowly, absorbing this information and unable to believe he’s taking romantic advice from fucking Toki, but. He’ll take what he can get. The two of them both jump when the rhythm guitarist’s phone goes off - he gets this fond little expression when he checks the screen, cooing, “I gots to get back to beds.”</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Grossch,” Murderface mutters, rolling his eyes dramatically as a stab of resentment envelops him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You ams goins to be okays?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah,” Murderface says, hearing this ugly, ominous laugh from the voice in his head, and it makes him crack a smile of his own. “I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, dood, here it comes....” Pickles vibrates excitedly, a gallon-size bottle of vodka in his left hand and Nathan’s palm clasped in his right as the two of them stare eagerly at the giant clock on the frontman’s wall. The only light in the room is the moonlight glittering in through Nathan’s giant sea window wall, and the tiny little tea lights that his big fumbling hands had struggled to set up all around the room.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Moonlight <em>and</em> candlelight, Nate? Fuckin’ spoilin’ me here,” Pickles had said with a flushed grin, when he’d walked into Nathan’s room in his cute little sleazy open dress shirt. His eyes sparkled when they joined hands in greeting, and Nathan was blown away too, because his boyfriend looked like this illuminated, beautiful-yet-totally-brutal drum god. On the 1-10 hotness scale, he looked like a solid <em>infinity</em>, and when he handed Nathan both a fat joint and a box of rose thorns (because the thorns are the metal part of the flower bouquet), the frontman was left a stupid, swooning mess. <span class="Apple-converted-space"><br/></span></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s been 11:59 for forever. What the fuck,” Nathan growls, his own excitement visible in the way his toes wiggle in front of him where they sit on the floor together. His gaze burns holes into slow clicking of the second hand, as he squints, “Is this clock broken. Is it....possible for a clock to break, if time doesn’t stop? Holy shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Dood, write thet down. Good lyrics,” Pickles says, clinking their bottles together as they both tip their heads back and take a swig. Right as they do, the clock strikes twelve - they nearly choke on their vodka when they hear the ominous, deathly chime echo through the entirety of Mordhaus, and then Pickles grins excitedly before launching himself on top of Nathan.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The frontman makes a noise of surprise as his back hits the floor, his drummer passionately taking him apart with a booze-infused kiss. Everything about it is so </span> <span class="s3">Pickles</span> <span class="s2"> - the dreds locked up in his bulky fists, the taste of vodka and weed and cigarettes, the smell of garbage can cologne. It feels more like home than anything he’s ever felt, and it reminds him that</span> <em> <span class="s3"> oh yeah, I’ve been with the love of my life for an entire goddamn year now, and I’m the luckiest krillionaire on the planet.</span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey, dood,” Pickles whispers against his mouth, grinning slyly. “Y’ready for yer present?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Fuck yeah,” Nathan growls, unable to keep the smile off his face as he closes his eyes and leans in for another kiss, because he thought the present was going to be you-know-whatting, but then Pickles’ weight on top of him disappears. He cracks open an eye, confused at the loss on contact, “Hnnwhuh?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m gettin’ yer present, big guy!” Pickles says, rushing over to his pile of shit in the corner of Nathan’s room, moving dirty clothes and empty bottles aside excitedly as he roots around.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh. <em>Oh</em>, we’re really doing that now?” Nathan asks, a splotchy kind of blush trickling across his face and collarbones, because his song he’s been working on isn’t exactly ready, because it’s still not perfect. He has it composed, he has the words, but it’s not good enough for Pickles. Not yet, and he gnaws on his black-painted pinkie nail nervously.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Y’dont have to gimme anythin yet,” Pickles says benevolently, as he pulls a brown paper bag out from underneath some shirts he’d stolen from Nathan. He shakes the bag at him mischievously, “I jest wanna give you yers before the day starts, y’know. So we can enjoy it.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Well, I <em>do </em>have something for you. Don't think I like, forgot." </span> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I know, Nate'n." </span> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Your present is probably...better...than mine....so, like. Lower your expectations." </span> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Shuddup, dood," Pickles laughs, rolling his eyes and leveling the frontman with his you're-being-a-dildo look. "You're a fuckin' badass when it comes to gift givin', and you know theat. 'S why I had'ta up my game fer this." </span> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <span class="Apple-converted-space">Okay, yeah, he <em>is </em>pretty good at picking out presents for people, and he'll stand by the fact that getting Murderface the blackened, brutal gift of nothing for his thirtieth birthday was totally awesome. But Pickles is better at romance than him, so it's kind of a toss up. They're not really competitive with each other, like Toki and Skwisgaar are, so if Pickles' gift slays his own he won't be too crabby about it. </span> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Is it, uh. Is it that fucking 300 year-old shipwreck wine I’ve been wanting? Fuck, Pickles, that’s awesome,” Nathan grins, because obviously the brown paper bag both is shaped like and indicates booze. He reaches out a hand for it, “We can drink this shit all day. We—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Jesus, Nate. You really are bad with surprises,” Pickles laughs, sitting back down next to him on the floor, keeping the bag out of reach. “It ain’t booze, believe it or naht.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A present from Pickles that’s not booze? Nathan is suddenly baffled, and he’s only further baffled when he makes eye contact with his drummer and sees the nervous flush that creeps across his freckled face.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Okey, so,” Pickles starts, then pauses, then inhales like he’s going to continue, then pauses again. “Ahhm. If y’don’t like it, then jest...give it back, alright? It’s naht a big deal, if you don’t...”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He trails off, chewing at his bottom lip, patting nervous cadences on his dress pants-clad thighs. Nathan’s face softens, as he puts one of his hands over Pickles’, “It’s from you, Pickles. It could be, like. A bag full of dog shit and I’d fucking frame it.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His drummer laughs, a little too squeaky and high pitched. He looks at him with his loved up moon eyes that never fail in melting Nathan, before handing the bag to him delicately. “Just...go easy ahn me, alright? I’m naht good with sappy shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nathan levels him with a look, because that’s definitely not true - they might be a little emotionally constipated at times, but<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Pickles is the most romantic and affectionate person he's ever dated. Which, y'know, it's not brutal - but he fucking loves feeling so...loved. <em>By </em>someone he loves, and when he looks up at the redhead's candlelit face his heart feels incredibly full. He gnaws on his bottom lip as he pulls something out of the bag. </span></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Oh," Nathan breathes in surprise, because it's <em>not </em>a bottle of 300 year-old shipwreck wine - it's one of the cases of liquid purity. Something recorded "on water," and his thumb hovers over the play button as he looks to Pickles with wide eyes. "Is it...should I play it?" </span> </span>
</p><p class="p3">"If yer ready," Pickles says softly, nervously, and Nathan's heart hammers with a thousand brutal butterflies in his chest as he presses the button. It's gotta be a song, and isn't that funny, that the two of them would think of the same idea for each other. At least now they'll be Gift Equals, and Nathan won't have to be so nervous about--</p><p class="p3">"Hey, Nate'n," Pickles' voice comes out of the glass container crisply and clearly, and Nathan waits for a guitar to start strumming, but it never comes. "I, ah. I've recorded and re-recorded this shit so many fuckin' times. It's funny, because you've always been the easiest person to tahk to in the world, y'know? Even on the day we first met, and you told me I should be yer drummer...heh, whet was it y'said in thet interview? That we had to have known each other in a past life, right? I dunno if I ever toldja, but I totally fuckin' agree. Whet we have, it's...<em>different</em>. It puts all the ather love I've felt t'shame."</p><p class="p3">"Pickles..." Nathan breathes, already feeling teary and emotional, and his drummer both shushes and shoulders up to him as they continue to listen.</p><p class="p3">"It's jest...I wanted t'give you somethin' thet you can listen to on the days where I'm drunk 'n pissin' you ahff, or when I'm bein' moody and annoyin' and you might ferget how much I love you. And hanestly, I, ehh. We don't know whet the future is gonna bring. And I think about Skwisgaar listenin' to Toki's cassette tapes when the kid was gone, and thet was all he had of 'im, y'know? So. If anything ever happens t'me, you'll have this. Unless you accidentally use it to make yer fuckin' ramen, and in thet case, I wouldn't even be mad because you make <em>really </em>good liquid purity noodles."</p><p class="p3">He's not gonna cry, not before Pickles has said all his sappy stuff - but it's so fucking hard. And the idea of him needing to listen to this in a similar context to Toki and Skwisgaar, where Pickles can't remember him or is in a coma or dying...that really sends him for a loop. But that's never going to happen, so. It's fine. It's all fine.</p><p class="p3">"This is ganna sound really sappy. But I've loved you since before I met you. You were everythin I was always lookin' for in a person - and naht jest because you're so fuckin' haht, but. Trust me, I can tahk about thet. But I'd rather <em>show ya</em>, right after you finish listenin' to this, eheh.</p><p class="p3">But seriously...it's more'n that. It's because you've gaht a really good heart, Nate. I was seriously, like. About to self-destruct and fuckin' die before I met you, and half of thet was because I'd been treated really fuckin' badly by people who I thaht were supposed t'love me. But with you, I never had to be afraid, or feel like I wasn't good enough or capable of bein' loved. I always hoped thet one day you <em>would </em>love me, and thet's whet kept me goin' every dey. </p><p class="p3">Fer the past fifteen years since my last Snakes 'n Barrels show, I wanted you t'see my heart too, because the moment I saw you it was all yers. I mean, y'had to wonder why I never dated anybahdy, or why I'd always try 'n sabotage yer dates 'n stuff. Even Abigail, it...it wasn't <em>about </em>her, when I quit. Y'know whet I'm sayin'?</p><p class="p3">But thet stuff doesn't matter anymore, dood. Because we're fuckin' together now, even though we had to get to hell and back to make it here. We <em>made it</em>. I waited fifteen fuckin' years to be able to call you mine, to be able to sleep with you at night as <em>more </em>than platonic cuddly shit. I'm naht makin' thet mistake again - I'm naht waitin' any-fuckin-more t'tell you have I feel about you. We don't know whet tomorrow's ganna bring.</p><p class="p3">Like you said a year ago - we have to change, because things are different than they were. And I already fuckin' know thet I want you. I mean, who would've thaht we'd be here right now? I sure as fuck never would've thaght I'd <em>ever </em>be askin' someone t'marry me, but here I fuckin' am. It's <em>you</em> Nate. You bring this weird, gooey shit out in me that makes me a fuckin' lovesick trainwreck, and I--"</p><p class="p3">Nathan pauses the device. He stares ahead with huge eyes, slowly turning his tear-streaked face to Pickles', and his voice shakes dangerously, as he asks, "Are you...uhhhm. Did you just...?" He blinks away more tears, whispering, "Did you say 'marry.'" </p><p class="p3">"Fuck yeah I did, dood," Pickles whispers back, and he reaches into his pants pocket and Nathan is suddenly dizzy with elation, love and warmth and all those disgusting romantic emotions exploding like a pipe bomb in his chest. His drummer flashes him a teary, crooked smirk, opening up the box he procured, asking, "Y'wanna fuckin' marry me, Nate'n?"</p><p class="p3">His dream from the other day comes back to hit him full force, at the sight of that black ring sparkling in front of him. That couldn't have been a premonition dream, though, because they were suited up in armor and looking they were getting ready to fucking die or something. They're getting married, and this is their happy ending, and he refuses the nagging idea that there's any more drama ahead of them. And as Pickles looks at him nervously, there's only one response that comes to his mind, and he grabs his drummer by the shoulders, growling through his tears, "<em>That's doable</em>."</p><p class="p3">Just as Pickles' eyes light up, a huge smile blooming across his face, Nathan crashes their lips together in a passionate, emotional frenzy. Nobody's ever said words like that to him before, and he has them <em>forever</em>, <em>on water</em>, and it's the greatest gift that he could've ever gotten. Besides the fact that for some reason, Pickles wants to marry him, and holy fuck, they're <em>engaged</em>.</p><p class="p3">Pickles tackles him onto the ground again, and he makes good on his word about showing Nathan just how attracted to him he actually is.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pickles romancing nate?? mmmMMM</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. anniversary: part one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>holy shit this is a long one. please leave comments, and enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Pickles the Drummer has spent enough time sleeping - er, passed out, more specifically - to know when he’s dreaming or not. He loves bending reality with drugs, alcohol, painkillers, anything to take himself away; but he’s done it all so much that he knows the tells. Knowing his own brain so well is a skill, honestly - one he only ever doubts when Nathan looks over at him with those lovingly gooey green eyes, and he has to pinch himself to make sure he’s really awake. But right now? Right now, he knows he’s dreaming, and on this particular night, he dreams about the first time he ever laid eyes on Nathan Explosion. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The summer air is warm and dreamlike, as the sun sets in vibrant pinks and oranges around him. He’s always loved something about open-air concerts - especially on nights exactly like this one, where the ocean salt is thick in the air and the slightest of breezes cards through his wild red hair. It’s a melancholy night for him, for two big reasons - one, because it’s his first show post-rehab and the first time he’ll ever be sober onstage, and two, it’s Snakes ‘n Barrels’ last ever concert.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Murderface had begged to open for Pickles’ last show, now that his band has this new lead singer, and when they’d opened those couple times singerless they sounded pretty halfway decent as it was. He kinda owed it to his friend anyways, after he’d been there for him during his whole overdose drama - Murderface had firmly instructed him to stand and watch the show, so Pickles feels like it’s the least he can do. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We are Financially Raped. Prepare to get musically fucked into an endless, unforgiving debt,” a deep, growling voice snarls out through the microphone, reverberating through Pickles’ head, and his eyes pop open in surprise and he stares holes into grass underneath his feet. The first chords of the guitars ring out, and suddenly, they’re shredding. It’s exactly what Pickles has been yearning for lately, and as the music keeps ripping on he realizes that this is exactly what he means when he says he wants heavier music...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Pickles slowly raises his head, lifting his eyes to the stage in front of him, pushing his wild red hair out of his eyes, and that’s when he first sees him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The sunset glows behind the lead singer, illuminating every curve of his hulking frame as he growls out the lyrics deep and low in his throat. His face is twisted in a sharp snarl as he tosses his dark hair over his shoulder, muscles flexing as he dips the microphone stand low, and Pickles suddenly feels...warm. Hot, everywhere, all over his body, and the frontman’s eyes flicker upwards, a piece of dark hair falling into his face - they land right on Pickles, and the redhead feels his his heart slam to a stop in his chest because they’re so fucking green. His eyes slice right through Pickles’ soul, right through everything that he thought he believed, and slowly, a flushed, crooked grin blossoms on his own face as they stare at each other. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A phone rings.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Pickles blinks, looking to where Tony’s standing off to the side, and fuck. He really doesn’t wanna see Tony like that, looking like a kicked jealous puppy with those dark eyes and that stupid crooked top hat on his head, and...and did he really look like that in this moment, or was it just what Pickles had always imagined? In the real memory, a phone didn’t ring, so...where was the ringing coming from, anyways? He needs to wake up—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So this was it, huh, Pickles?” Magnus’ voice purrs in his ears, and no, this isn’t how it happened-- “I’m not letting you leave me for him, babe.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Darkness surrounds him, sinking its claws into him, and the only light is the ominously static blue from the giant TV screen that’s suddenly in front of him. The screen flashes, and he already knows what’s coming - Toki’s face, defeated and broken, blue eyes bloodshot and body caked in dirt and blood and grime. “Pickle,” Toki sobs, lifting the knife out from underneath his pantleg, raising it above his own chest. “W-Why ams this happenings to mes? I-It ams your fault, oh my gods!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Toki, don’t!” Pickles gasps, reaching forward, but he realizes that he’s chained to the ground, and suddenly he can’t breathe. He claws at his own throat, trying to get the collar off that somehow had clamped itself around his neck, and a knife drags up his back and Magnus’ laughter echoes around him, and he can’t fucking breathe--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nngh,” Nathan’s voice cuts through the dream, violently throwing Pickles from the darkness of his mind into the darkness of the frontman’s bedroom. He gasps for air, hands coming up to his throat, his small frame jostled a bit by the big arms that snuggle him close. Nathan’s sleepy voice grumbles against his ear, “Pickles. Your phone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone is still ringing, and he tries to grab for it, but his body is shaking too hard for him to do anything but wheeze. He thinks about Toki, about the way the kid won’t let anyone see him shirtless anymore, the way he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night because of the torture he went though, the way he looked up at Magnus in the basement before plunging the knife into his own chest. He thinks about Magnus gazing into his own eyes, kissing his face, nosing against his hair, sharp teeth smiling against his hipbone, and—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles jolts upright in bed as he slaps a hand over his own mouth, but it doesn’t do anything to stop the vomit that spills through his fingertips. Nathan gasps out his name, suddenly wide awake, swinging them both out of bed and stumbling as he quickly guides Pickles through the dark and to the bathroom. Pickles instantly throws himself at the toilet, retching into it, puke dripping down his beard and tears rolling down the freckled planes of his face as he gasps for air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pickles, my god,” Nathan breathes, one big hand rubbing against his back, the other sweeping his dreads into a fisted ponytail. “W-What can I do? What should—?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“M-muhhh—m-mmmy inhaleeerr,” Pickles wheezes into the toilet bowl, waving a hand at the medicine cabinet where he keeps his spare. Nathan knows exactly where it is - this wouldn’t be the first time Pickles has woken him up in a panic - and the frontman dutifully retrieves it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O-Oh gahd, it’s-it’s...it’s my fuckin’ fault,” Pickles gasps, dry-heaving into the toilet bowl. “It’s my ffff-ffuuhhh! Fuckin--! What the fff-fuhhhh-!! What the FUCK!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The frontman turns Pickles tear-streaked face to his own, and Nathan’s green eyes look absolutely eviscerated as he sticks the inhaler into the drummer’s mouth and pumps it for him. His voice shakes as he tries, “Pickles, i-it’s…” Nathan trails off, but tries again as he presses their foreheads together, “It’s not your fault…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles whimpers, eyes squeezing shut, hands gripping at the frontman desperately, because it really fucking is, and Nathan could never really understand the levels of self-hating, horrifying regret he feels every fucking time he looks at Toki. The least he could’ve done was look for him, and he was too stoned out of his mind to even do that, and fuck--  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“T-Toki. We gahtta make sure he’s okay, right fuckin’ now,” Pickles begs, gripping at Nathan like a lifeline, and the frontman‘s black curtain of hair swings as he nods. God, Nathan’s too fucking good for him - he looks so worried as he helps Pickles to his feet, and the two of them don’t even bother putting on robes as they rush their boxer-clad asses up to the wing of Mordhaus where Toki’s room is. Pickles feels sick with worry as the two of them approach the brunette’s door, and he hesitates. He thinks about pushing it open, seeing Toki on the ground as he bleeds out of every orifice in his face, and the vomit starts to build back up in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. Hey, stop,” Nathan’s growling voice snaps him back to reality, big hands on his shoulders to steady him. “Pickles. That’s over, alright? Toki’s better now, and he’s gonna be laying right there when we open the door.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles swallows, nodding to himself more than Nathan, and the two of them crack open the brunette’s door. The drummer’s heart falls into his feet when he sees Toki’s room is empty - panic throttles him as he looks up at Nathan, ready to burst into tears, to lose all the breath in his body and fall apart, but the frontman steadies him again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck. Duh. They’re in Skwisgaar’s room. Toki has that tiny ass bed,” Nathan assures him, taking his hand and leading him down the hall. Sure enough, when they get within the general vicinity of Skwisgaar’s room, they can hear two guitars playing together, fast and flawless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See? He’s okay, Pickles. Look,” Nathan rubs one of his big palms against the drummer’s back, silently cracking open Skwisgaar’s door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar and Toki are sitting facing each other on the bed, hair tied back into buns, and their fingers are flying as they play each other’s guitars like it’s second nature. The sight threatens to bring more stupid fucking tears to his eyes, but god, he’s so happy to see that they’re both okay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! You remembors this ones?” Skwisgaar says, changing up the riffs, and Toki doesn’t miss a beat before switching and matching him perfectly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I recorded this ones for yous after you went to Swedens, lookins for yous dads,” Toki hums, eyes sparkling as he smiles at the blonde. “You can tells I missed yous when I wrotes it, huhs?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeeuh, I thoughts thats what this, euugh, ‘vibes’ ams,” Skwisgaar smiles back, leaning forward to kiss him as the two of them keep playing. “I missed you toos, while I was in Swedens. I kept tryingk to convince myskelf I could lives without yous, but I would dreams about yous everies nights.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good things we don’t gots to miss each others anymores,” the brunette cooes, meeting the blonde for another kiss as Skwisgaar smiles happily, in a way the drummer doesn’t think he’s ever seen grace the blonde’s features before. Pickles has seen enough, and his shoulders slump with relief as he and Nathan quietly shut the door and back away. Pickles murmurs, wiping his red nose on his wristband, “Shit, dude. I’m sahrry I dragged y’out of bed ‘n fucked wit’ yer sleepin on our anniversary 'n shit...” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck sleep. I just...need you to be okay,” Nathan’s voice is gratingly soft, as he leans in and kisses him with a gentle intensity. Similarly to how the frontman will get frustrated and just smash something, sometimes Nathan does this - when he can’t really express his feelings with words, he pours it into something physical instead, like a kiss. Pickles feels the panic slowly start to fade into something more manageable, and when Nathan pulls away, Pickles smiles thankfully at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thenks, Nate’n,” he murmurs, and takes his hand as the two of them walk back to bed. “I love you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Nathan growls, squeezing his hand. “I love you, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They climb back underneath the covers, Nathan’s body slotting perfectly against the back of his own, and he glances at his phone to see who the fuck was calling him in the middle of the night. 3:30 am, unknown caller, no voicemail. Pickles shrugs, tossing his phone back on the nightstand, and he feels himself melt into the warmth curtaining his back as his eyes slowly slide shut again. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>One week ago</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Skwisgaar,” Twinkletits has his robotic hands in a pyramid underneath his nose, squinting at the blonde intensely. “I just wanted to have a ‘lil one-on-one rock talk with you, buddy. Me and Charles are kinda worried about’cha.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Skwisgaar leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow and looking disgusted, “Euughh, whys?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ve been through a lot, y’know. The love of your life got stabbed right in front of you, then kidnapped and tortured for months while you battled a doozy of a drug addiction, then he comes home and goes into a coma, and then when he wakes up from the coma he has no idea who you are, and then he had that demon in his brain and died in your arms after you gave him the poison that—“ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I donts needs de fuckingk recaps, alrights?” Skwisgaar snaps, blonde hair falling into his face as his body violently tenses up. He inhales through his nose, slowly breathing out, and he suddenly looks exhausted as he runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I’s...fine. I gots what I wanted in de end, sos why would I dwells on all dat craps?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know it’s not that easy,” Twinkletits levels him with a look. “Everyone has been affected in the long-term by this. And while you’re not having panic attacks or nightmares or emotional outbursts, I know you have, ehm. Some unresolved issues.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Skwisgaar tenses, blue eyes narrowing. “...What do you means?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The basement,” Twinkletits says simply, and the shift in the blonde’s demeanor happens so fast that it’s almost jarring. His left knee starts bouncing anxiously, his straight posture bows inwards. He looks highly defensive, and uncomfortable, as the therapist continues, “Charles told me what’s going on down there.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Skwisgaar looks away, gnawing on his pinkie nail. He mutters, “Ams a safety precautions.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Does Toki know?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Noes,” he says instantly, blue eyes hard as they snap over to Twinkletits. “Noes, he cants know.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you don’t think keeping this secret is going to raise any problems between you two?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He wouldnst undorstands,” Skwisgaar shakes his head, fingers tensing and untensing around his knees, itching violently to do something. “It ams to keeps him sane.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is this all for Toki, though?” Twinkletits raises an eyebrow. “Sounds to me like it’s revenge, for you.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Skwisgaar’s eyes narrow, and he says nothing more. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Present day</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only when sunlight filters through the water of the vast ocean surrounding Skwisgaar’s room, does Toki realize that he went another night without getting any sleep. The two of them played guitar together until around four in the morning, and then Skwisgaar ended up dozing off. He can’t help but feel guilty, for keeping him awake through all of his own sleepless nights - having a boyfriend with night terrors probably isn’t the greatest thing in the world, but the blonde takes it in such stride that Toki can’t help but love him more for it. If that’s even possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki likes when Skwisgaar sleeps, because it gives him a chance to stare at Skwisgaar’s face extensively, burning the features into his memory. It makes him feel ashamed, that he could have ever forgotten anything about this beautiful visage in front of him; the little crease in the side of his nose, the long pale eyelashes that twitch as he dreams, the fullness of his lips, the little dimples in his cheeks when he smiles. He’ll never let himself lose these little details again, even if his brain is invaded a thousand times over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other best part about Skwisgaar sleeping? The blonde wouldn’t let him stay the night back when they were “benefit friends,” so this is something he’s learned within the past year of sharing a bed with him. Skwisgaar sleep-talks, always in Swedish, and for someone who usually isn’t a fan of being vulnerable, it’s as surprising as it is cute. Especially because good or bad, he always seems to be dreaming about Toki. Like this morning, for instance, as he mumbles sleepily in his ear, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ditt spelande låter så bra idag, min kärlek. Du måste ha praktiserande för mig...” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’s so luckies,” Toki whispers back, nuzzling into the blonde’s neck, looping his strong arms around the other man’s lean middle. He presses a soft kiss underneath his jawline, cooing, “Yous been all mines fors a year now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Denne dagen betyr så mye for meg.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t sure if it feels longer, or shorter. He’s so dazzled that they made it here at all that he practically feels drunk with a delirious happiness. He doesn’t want to wake the blonde, but he can’t help himself - he kisses his neck slowly, more intentionally, as he draws him tighter in his embrace. Skwisgaar stirs, eyelashes fluttering as he mumbles sleepily, “Mm, Tokis...I thoughts wes ‘sposed to be gettingk sleeps…”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonts tells if you wonts,” Toki grins, and the blonde smiles as he tips his neck to the side, offering more room to work with, and Toki instantly obliges. His lips trail up the pale skin, pressing kisses to every spot he can reach, and when he nips at the blonde’s earlobe they both feel Skwisgaar’s full-body shudder. The cords of his throat vibrate underneath Toki’s lips as he sighs pleasantly, “I was dreamingk about yous.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I knows,” Toki purrs, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “Tells to me about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More awake now, but still pleasantly drowsy, the corner of Skwisgaar’s mouth kicks up into a sleepy smile as he murmurs, “We was in dis big igloos togethors, in a crazies mountain snowstorms. You was playing some grandpas guitars...singingk me a cheesy loves song, eheuhh, I tells you it sounds like dildos because you gots, like, a super unbarassing outs-of-tune E-string--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like Dream Skwisgaar ams a big asshole like Reals Life Skwisgaar.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you looksed real cutes, so I lets you keep goingk,” the blonde ignores him, hand dipping beneath the hem of his pajama pants. “You was shiveringks colds like de big freeze babies.” In real life, he kisses the tip of Toki’s nose, and whispers, “I says to yous, that I would keeps you warm.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their lips meet, and Toki does indeed melt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He burns moments like this into his most precious memory fault too - the most talented hands in the world tracing the scars on his back like they’re something precious, the morning sunlight filtered through the ocean illuminating the desire swimming in sea-blue eyes. Having Skwisgaar Skwigelf moaning in his ear and begging for him never gets old, even after ten years on-and-off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh fucks,” Toki groans, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, blunt fingernails digging into the underside of Skwisgaar’s knees. The Swede’s hand that isn’t working himself between them slides up the side of Toki’s face, bringing their lips together, soft whines breathed against his mouth as they both pick up the pace—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pounding against the door pops the soft, passionate moment like a bubble, and Skwisgaar yells out a shocked “HHEUUGH” as Toki nearly jumps out of his own skin, head whipping over to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the fucks does you wants?” Toki yells, forcing his hips to grind to a halt, sweat dripping down his flushed face as he tries to catch his breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re, ah. Having a meeting. Apparently,” Charles says from the other side of the door, and the guitarists look at each other in irritated confusion. Skwisgaar glares daggers at where he imagines their manager is standing as he snaps breathlessly, “Ams dis orgents?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, ah. Believe so.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki sighs dramatically, and if a look could kill, his furious expression would slice through Charles on the other side of the door like butter - but the two of them both know that they can do nothing but listen. They separate, both pouting as they get themselves dressed, and by the time they come out on the other side of the door they look disheveled and tired and cranky. Even still, they hold hands as they complain the entire way down the hall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they reach the meeting table, only Murderface is sitting there, and Skwisgaar is quick to make his annoyance known, “This ams fuckingks tyranny! We’s supposed to haves the day off for our annivorsaries, and you wakes us ups with this boringk business shits?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki’s muscled arms flex as he crosses them tightly, lips in their signature pout, “Yeah! We shoulds be in beds, and now we sits here like assholes!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three of them look to where Murderface sits, waiting for him to take this opportunity to complain about how inconvenienced he is because of this. But he doesn’t say anything, and merely glares darkly into space. He’s more disheveled than usual, eyes red-rimmed and dark-circled, arms and fists tense where they’re clenched up against his body. Maybe he’d just had a rough night, but…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something about him is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. When Toki had touched their bassist when they crossed paths in Mordhaus’ halls, that little supernatural part of his brain lit up, sparking with feelings of misery and dread and jealousy, and something....darker. Toki recognized it, in a familiar, terrible sort of way - it reminded him of his time with Salacia crawling around in his brain. But it’s not possible - they expelled the demon, they saved the day, and any and all drama is over. Right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Murderface? Are you, ah. Alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I schlept weird,” he mutters with a piercing glare, face screwed up in a bitter pout. “I schould schtill be fucking in bed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ja, us too!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Literallies, ehuehehuh,” Skwisgaar nudges him, and the two of them snicker at the innuendo. They glance over, waiting for Murderface to make some disgusted comment, but again, nothing comes as he glares bitterly at his own hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boys, I’m not the one who called this meeting,” Charles says, looking mildly confused as he checks his watch. “You’re going to have to, ah. Take this up with Pickles and Nathan.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They calls a meetingks and amnst even here?” The blonde rolls his eyes, pulling out Toki’s chair for him before slumping down into his own. Murderface’s red-rimmed eyes snap over to Charles, nose scrunching up slightly at the mention of their other two bandmates. He mutters, scratching at his wrist, “Maybe Picklesch broke up with the big guy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki’s eyebrows raise at that comment, as do Charles’. Their manager looks at him cautiously, “Why would, ah. Why would he do that? He seems to be very...taken with Nathan.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Murderface curls in on himself further, shoulders hunching up around his ears as he snaps, “You think thisch is the firscht time Picklesch has gotten all gay and dischgusting over someone? He alwaysch gets over it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfft, you reallies thinks Pickle ams evor lettingk dis go? He likes Nathans for almost as long as I’s known him,” Skwisgaar waves a hand, and Toki doesn’t miss the way that the bassist glares menacingly at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve known him </span>
  <em>
    <span>longer</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Murderface hisses, scratching more fervently at his wrist. “Everyone alwaysch scheems to fucking forget that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s you getting all riled up abouts?” Skwisgaar asks, and while they’ve long given up on their ‘not caring’ rule, he must still feel uncomfortable with letting the bassist know he’s concerned about him. So, he tries a more casual approach, “Yous looking like shits dis morning, ams you—?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m the fat ugly bassch player, huh? You think becausche you’re scho beautiful that you’re better than me? Fuck you!” He snarls, devoid of his usual casual dickishness, and replaced with something dark and burning. “I could be lead guitarischt, you know! You’re not even that fucking good!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar snorts, clearly unphased by the jab, “Pormits me to disagrees. You can barelies evens play yous bass.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oooookays,” Toki says, and he’s much less subtle about the concern that’s laced through his words, “I think Skwisgaar ams just trains to says dat you donts seems like yous usual—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Asch if you care!” Murderface yells, slamming a hand down on the table, and Toki gasps in alarm as he jolts backwards. Everyone in the house knows not to make sudden movements or loud noises around him, and in turn, they also know that Skwisgaar goes into protective attack mode when he thinks Toki is in any type of discomfort. Standing six feet and seven inches, and brandishing a guitar which he’s beat people with on several occasions, the blonde can be incredibly intimidating when he wants to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the fucks ams yous problems?” Skwisgaar demands through his teeth, fists clenching aggressively. “You fucks with him, you ams fuckingks with mes. And I don’t thinks you wants dat.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, buddy. Let’sch fucking go.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is all so strange. Murderface is usually way too cowardly to challenge anyone to a fight, let alone Skwisgaar. The two of them never usually argue - but now the bassist is practically begging for some type of confrontation. Toki just wants things to stop before they escalate, so he holds up his hands placatingly and tries, “It’s alrights, Skwisgaar. We’s just needs to--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He ams just jealous dat we’s all got annivorsaries todays and, ehuh, what ams todays to hims? De day everybodies decides he amnt fuckables?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boys, enough,” Charles says, pinching his temples like he’s reprimanding children, but something about this is different. Rage sparks behind Murderface’s eyes like a blazing inferno, and his shoulders tense up around his ears as he opens his mouth to deliver some sort of scalding burn, but it never comes. Instead, Pickles and Nathan walk into the room, and everyone pauses to look at them in question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank god,” Charles mutters underneath his breath. “Would you two like to take a seat?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, no,” Nathan says gruffly, apples of his cheeks a bit pink as he and Pickles look at each other. His drummer gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and the other three look at them with an apprehensive curiosity as the frontman inhales deeply. “Alright. You guys are the only people we’re telling about this, so. Nothing leaves this room. Got it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone nods or mutters in confirmation. Murderface’s eyes narrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uuuhhhhh. Well. Me and Pickles...are, like. Y’know, we’re still us. Even though things...are going to be different,” Nathan says, clearly struggling for words as he ticks a piece of dark hair behind his ear. “Uhhhh....we were gonna wait til after the, um. Party, but. We figured you guys should know, like. Now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Different?” Murderface repeats, dark eyes lighting up just a tiny bit as he eagerly leans forward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Uuuhhhhh. Well. Me and Pickles--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Charles says, holding up a hand, and his eyes snap up to Pickles and Nathan. “Did you say ‘party?’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles blinks, raising a studded eyebrow, “Uh, yeeah, dood. Y’know, the party. Tonight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If their manager really was a robot, his brain would be doing a hard reset right now. He stares at them blankly, “What party?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The five of them look between each other in confusion. Usually, they don’t even have to tell Charles what’s happening, because he just naturally knows. Seeing him look anything but composed and in control is mildly jarring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’s been planningk dis annivorsary-slash-reborthday parties for Tokis fors like, a year,” Skwisgaar raises a light eyebrow at him. “You reallies had no ideas?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, ah. I guess I’ve been...preoccupied,” Charles shakes his head, looking stressed as he eyes the five of them. “We can’t…” he stumbles over his words, “Have you-? Have you spoken to any of the people you invited?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki frowns. First Murderface is acting strange, and now Charles? Their manager is the one who always keeps everything together, and seeing him...nervous, maybe, makes the brunette feel incredibly unsettled. Skwisgaar merely shrugs a shoulder, “Noes. I sends inkvitations.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, they were brutal,” Nathan nods in agreement. “Fuckin’ full of pig’s blood that sprays out when you open it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heh, thet was my idea. Gahtta keep it classy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I invites some peoples toos on FaceFriends! Like Skwisgaar’s moms and Nathan’s moms and Pickle’s moms and—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You invites our moms? Eugh, she wants all de fuckingks details on our relationskips, sos I keeps ignoringk hers about its, and she ams gonna bes all up in my grills!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeeah, whet the fuck? We don’t wanna party with our fuckin’ parents, Toki!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I invited my dad,” Nathan shrugs a shoulder. “My dad’s fuckin’ awesome.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t fuckin’ invite Seth, did you? Gahd, if I see thet motherfucker I—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boys,” Charles plants a palm on the table, barely able to mask his anxiousness as he adjusts his glasses. “I’m going to need a list of everyone invited. There are some, ah, disclosure forms they need to sign. As well as I’m going to have to get a shuttle to transport everyone underwater, and—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Murderface suddenly pipes up, still staring holes into his hands as he growls, “What dischcloschure formsch.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone looks over at him, and Charles before raising a slow eyebrow. “Excuse me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’sch nothing here that we’re trying to keep schecret. No new music we’re working on - come to think of it, you haven’t scheduled usch anything in almoscht a year. Why would they need to schign dischloshure formsch?” He asks darkly, and Toki notices he’s digging his the fingers of his left hand so hard into the palm of his right that he’s drawing blood. “Unlessch you’re trying to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> not to tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>usch</span>
  </em>
  <span> schomething.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything is silent for a couple beats. Finally, Charles goes back into Robot Mode, and he straightens up - squares his shoulders, turns his face back into an expressionless mask, and he sips at the glass of brandy cradled in his left hand. “What are you, ah. Implying?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re keeping schecrets. That’sch what I’m implying.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfft. Charlies amnt keepingk secrets from us. He ams, eeughh, contractktuallies okbligatingks, to tells us everythingks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t remember him signing </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> after he put in his reschignation,” Murderface says, and Toki watches their manager’s eyes narrow. The brunette looks to Skwisgaar worriedly, because why would their bassist be saying something like this? If they can’t trust Charles, then who can they trust? The mere idea of him keeping something from them seems absolutely absurd. Skwisgaar must see the anxiety on his face, because he offers him an assuring hand squeeze, and brings it to his mouth to plant a kiss to the back of it. The fact that Murderface says nothing about this display of affection just makes Toki uneasier. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everythingk ams fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the blonde mouths against his knuckles, and he nods weakly, eager to believe him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan finally decides to speak up, his gruff voice growling out, “Don’t be talking shit on Charles. It doesn’t fucking matter if he’s signed anything. He’s our pal. He wouldn’t lie to us.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds, and just as Toki starts to get nervous, he clears his throat and says, “Everything I do, is for you boys’ best interest. I would never keep any information that you’d need to urgently know. Murderface, I’m sorry you feel this way, but. You’re just going to have to trust me. We’ll have a meeting after the party, and talk more.” He sips his brandy, and looks between the five of them again. “Now. Can I get that list, please.” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Fucks, fucks,” Skwisgaar breathes, staring at himself in his bedroom mirror nervously. Pickles watches in amusement as the Klokateer preening around the blonde fusses with his tie, and he snaps, “Makes shore it ams porfects!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dood, y’need t’cahlm down,” Pickles laughs from behind him, where he sits perched on the blonde’s bed. The Swede glares back at him through the mirror, huffing dramatically, and he has to admit - seeing him so nervous for something he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going to go well is so totally Skwisgaar. “Why’d you throw this big fuckin’ party if yer jest gonna be freakin’ out about it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’s domeskticals now. Dis ams what good boyfriends do,” Skwisgaar says primly. “Stuff like dis - de families and de big romanticals gestures - ams what he wants.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles huffs as he reaches into the opened dresser drawer beside him, holding up a little black ring box, “Y’really think Toki’s gonna care about anything except fer </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar swallows, tilting his chin up as the gear loops the white fabric of his tie. “Whats if he amnt readies?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Toki. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s been ready since like, the day you guys met.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or what if he ams planningk on proposing to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mes </span>
  </em>
  <span>at dis party? You hords him, he invites my fuckingks moms,” he mutters, one of his expensive shoes tapping nervously against the floor. “He always gots to copies me…it ams like he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense </span>
  </em>
  <span>I ams goingk to does something and then he ams alreadies doings it too!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles understands Skwisgaar’s nerves more than the blonde could even imagine - he’d been the exact same way, before pouring his heart out and proposing to his decade-and-a-half-long crush. He knew Nathan was obviously going to like his declaration on water - the big guy thinks he’s subtle about it, but he’s like, blatantly head-over-heels for his drummer - but the anticipation still had him sweating bullets in the bathroom and dry-heaving into the sink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But just as expected, he’d said </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Pickles the Drummer is engaged to Nathan fucking Explosion, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard not to be belting it out like a High School Musical song on the Dethklok Minute. They’d both agreed, however, that tonight is supposed to be Skwisgaar and Toki’s night, so their announcement to the band can wait until the morning, when everyone is all nice and calm and hungover from the party. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For now, though, his focus needs to be on the nervous Swede practically strangling himself with his own tie. Pickles gets up from his spot on the bed as Skwisgaar dismisses the Klokateer, growling in frustration as he wriggles the fabric around himself. “Stupids fuckingk ties! I wants all de ties in the woirld </span>
  <em>
    <span>borned</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a fuckingk garbage cans fires!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look,” Pickles says, turning him around and grabbing him by the shoulders, giving him a good shake, “Yer fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Skwisgaar</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dood. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>gaht </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. If Toki proposes to you, or you propose to him, yer gonna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>engaged </span>
  </em>
  <span>by the end of the night. And thet’s a big deal for you!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I knows!” He exclaims, blue eyes huge as sweat beads along his hairline. “It ams de big deals! I nevor thoughts I’d evor gets marrieds!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And here you fuckin’ are!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here I fuckingk ams!!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You love ‘im, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucks yeah I does!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then fuckin’ go fer it!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“YEEUH!” Skwisgaar slaps his hands down on his thighs, “I’s goingk to propose to that fuckingk dildo before he does it to mes! And he ams goingk to loves it so much dat he will cries likes de cutes dumb babies he ams!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thet’s--the spirit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks you, Pickle.” Long arms wrap him into a tight hug, and Pickles’ eyes widen a bit, because he always forgets that they ditched their whole ‘we don’t care about each other’ thing after everything that happened with Toki, and Skwisgaar has become </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>more open with his emotions and feelings ever since. “You’s a good friend, and ehehuh, de best mans.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No prahblem, dood. Y’know, I jest wanna see you guys ha--” he cuts himself off, the Swede’s words registering, and he holds him out at arm’s length to look at him, “Whet did you jest sey?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You hords me,” he smirks, and Pickles can’t help the huge smile that blossoms across his own face, as the two of them hug tightly again. He remembers the night before the gala, when he was the first person that the blonde ever trusted with the story of himself and Toki - before Skwisgaar started broadcasting to everyone who would listen, Pickles had been the first person he ever admitted to that he was in love with his rhythm guitarist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As yer </span>
  <em>
    <span>best man, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I am orderin’ you to stahp bein’ a pussy and git the fuck out dere! Let’s make it happen, dood,” Pickles grins, patting him on the shoulder, and Skwisgaar inhales deeply, squaring his shoulders as he opens up his room door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles had been expecting Mordhaus to be absolutely crawling with people - but when the two of them hit the big fancy room where Charles usually holds all his trying-to-impress-dignitaries suarees, he’s left pretty fucking shocked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy fuck, dood. It’s like everyone we’ve ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>known </span>
  </em>
  <span>is fuckin’ here!” he whispers to Skwisgaar, who gulps and hums in agreement. It’s not an exaggeration - as his eyes scan the sea of people in front of him, he sees so many familiar faces that it’s making </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>anxious, and he’s even not the one who’s going to be proposing. After almost a year of being secluded away with Nathan and his bandmates underwater, it’s a pretty jarring change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lights flash and metal music bumps around them as they look out over the scene in front of them. The Mordhaus scientists are laughing with that sarcastic doctor at the pool table, Mashed Potato Johnson is puffing out riffs on his blues harmonica. All of their moms are, of course, giggling and gossiping at the bar together, as Nathan’s dad motions like he’s talking about spearing something with a harpoon to Tyr. Edgar Jomfru is trying to hit on Rachel, Toki’s friend from the Black Metal shop in Norway is doing shots with Amber and Seth (what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>), the Blues Devil is snorting coke with Dr. Twinkletits and that German fashion designer, and Pickles’ head is absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>spinning</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks at hims,” Skwisgaar cooes, this gooey little smile on his face as he snatches a drink off a nearby bar and gestures across the room with it. When Pickles follows where he’s pointing, he sees Toki, wearing an unevenly buttoned-up dress shirt, throwing back shots and laughing hysterically with Abigail and Dr. Rockso. Dick Knubbler leans over from where he’d been talking to Charles and the rest of Zazz Blammymatazz, robotic eyes flashing a happy pink as he says something, and the four of them all burst into further hysterics before Toki delightedly raises his hand for another drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He looks happy, dood. Y’did good,” Pickles smiles, and Skwisgaar tosses his hair over a shoulder haughtily, some of his anxiousness seemingly slipping away. The redhead’s eyes rove out over the crowd, and he squints, “Hey, y’see Nate’n anywhere?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Euuugh, I amnst seesing hims, but knowingks Nathans, he ams probablies either at de bar or standing by a walls somewheres,” Skwisgaar says, sipping at his drink as his eyes fall back on Toki. “You gonna be okays if I goes to Tokis?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go get ‘im, dood,” Pickles says, smacking his back encouragingly before the two of them part. He sticks around to watch the blonde stride over, greeted with Toki’s sparkling eyes as the brunette practically bodyslams him into a hug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dis ams de best parties evers, Skwisgaar!” Toki exclaims, planting a sloppy kiss on his mouth, and Pickles shakes his head with a smile as he walks away. He’s got his own partner to find, and he starts making his way through the crowd. It’s kind of like a mosh pit, almost, with the way he’s gotta shove past people, maneuvering around whatever drunken asshole is in his way, and just when he thinks he sees a flash of dark hair, somebody grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pickles! Hey, babe! Longtime no fuckin’ see!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That </span>
  <em>
    <span>voice, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that face - Pickles is sent spiraling back twenty years into the past, as he’s faced with dark-rimmed eyes and purple-black hair and that same tired smirk. He just stares at him in shock, because he hasn’t seen Tony since that stupid fucking Sobertown show, and they barely even got to talk before security was dragging him off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony?” he squeaks, mouth opening and closing as he looks for the words to express his absolute confusion. “Dood, whet--whet are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar wouldn’t have invited Tony, and even Toki’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>dumb. Everyone knows that since they caught Trindle cheating on Nathan, so publicly, after he’d trusted her so hard and been so...whatever he was, with her, that the big guy kinda has some jealousy issues. He’s no doubt seen all the pictures that come up when you google search ‘Pickles Snakes ‘n Barrels’ - he and Tony hadn’t been, ehm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Subtle</span>
  </em>
  <span>, about their relationship, back then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s pictures and articles and magazine covers aplenty, of the two of them hanging all over each other, laughing and cuddling and grinding onstage, and just thinking about it makes him feel irritated and embarrassed. It’s part of the reason why he and Nathan haven’t spoken out about being together yet - they don’t need to prove anything to anyone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will invited us,” Tony says, gesturing to where Sammy and Snazz are chatting off to the side, taking sips of fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>water</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Pickles just stares at him like he’s been clubbed over the head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh.” The redhead blinks in confusion, mentally carding through all the people in the crowd, “Will who?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ehm, uh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>Murderface,’ sorry. I forgot you stopped calling him that,” he shrugs a shoulder, and Pickles’ eyebrows skyrocket straight into his hairline, because that is definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>true, in any way, shape, or form - Murderface and Tony fucking hated each other. Tony must know exactly what he’s thinking, because he laughs, “I know, man. I thought he hated us too when we were in Snakes, but. Guess he was just bein’ a dick.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yer tellin’ me,” Pickles stresses, feeling like someone just unscrewed the top of his head and yanked out his brain in fistfully, “that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Murderface</span>
  </em>
  <span> asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come to this pahrty.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” the bassist shrugs simply. “I mean. The guy must’ve gotten over it, I guess.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles looks back and forth, raising a pierced eyebrow, because Murderface has seemed more broody and bitter than ever lately. “Gotten over whet?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony looks at him, dark eyes flickering over his face, before a sad smile tugs its way across his features. His voice is soft, in a way that kind of makes Pickles feel stupid, as he mutters, “You really never figured it out? He always </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> you had no idea, but it was so obvious that I always thought....” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No idea about whet?” Pickles stresses, kind of starting to get pissed off about how fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>confused </span>
  </em>
  <span>he is. Before the dark-haired man can elaborate, however, there’s a big hand on Pickles’ lower back, and a familiar figure hulking up next to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh. What’s, uh. Goin’ on over here,” Nathan growls, practically looming over Tony as he squares his thick shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really, really have no fuckin’ idea,” Pickles says, and the tension is absolutely strangling. He’s pretty sure he’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>cursed</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the gift of gab, because whenever he’s in a nerve-wracking situation, he can never bring himself to shut the fuck up. And here he goes, gesturing to his ex fucking boyfriend, and blathering, “Nate’n, uh, I dunno if you remember Tony, but--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I don’t,” Nathan instantly snaps, even though Pickles knows he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and one of the bassist’s dark eyebrows ticks up in surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, well. Yeah, I’m...Tony,” he says, extending a hand out to the frontman, who merely glares at it like it’s something vile and disgusting. And being stupid as ever, the brunette takes the silence as Nathan trying to remember him or something, because he continues, “I used to be in Snakes with Pickles? We dated for like, a thousand years or whatever. When did we meet, P? Like, back in--?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Nathan growls, taking a step closer to him that’s so instantly intimidating that Tony takes one backwards. “Unless you wanna be like. Disemboweled through your nostrils. You should probably stop talking.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>good, and Pickles taps nervous cadences on his thighs as the other man looks confused, eyes darting around a bit as he holds up his hands in a gesture of ‘please don’t hurt me.’ “Uhhh. What’d I say?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heh, Nate’s jest kiddin’,” Pickles says, grabbing Tony by the shoulders and shoving him over towards Sammy and Snazz. “Go pal around and enjoy the pahrty, ‘er whatever.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the very least, he seems to be smart enough to know it’s time for him to get the fuck away. Tony goes back over to the other two, and Pickles lets out a strained sigh as he turns to his frontman. “Nate. Whet the fuck was thet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s too many fucking people here,” Nathan growls, turning and storming away, and Pickles stays tight at his heels as he follows him through the crowd. The two of them finally come out on the other side, and the frontman shoves his way over to the bar, tapping the counter demandingly for a drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nate’n</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Pickles stresses, hand squeezing the other man’s shoulder. “Dood. Tahk to me, c’mon.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why is he here,” Nathan grinds out, throwing back the shot that’s delivered to him, instantly pounding a fist down in request for another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>why he’s here. I know I didn’t fuckin’ invite ‘im,” the redhead says almost helplessly. “He says Murderface told ‘im about this, but...it doesn’t make any sense. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tony, I don’t…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He trails off, and Nathan doesn’t say anything, merely grunting as he takes another shot. At least now Pickles feels a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> better about almost ending Dethklok over the frontman hooking up with Abigail - apparently, he’s not the only one who gets wildly jealous over things that aren’t that big of a deal. But he knows how the big guy feels, even if he has absolutely nothing to worry about, so he worms his way in front of him, and Nathan lets him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. Lookit me, alright?” Pickles cups his face, directing his head downwards to look at him. He’s got his signature angry scowl on, bottom lip out in a pout, and he leans upwards and plants a firm kiss on his lips. “Dood,” he murmurs against his mouth, “Y’remember what I said in the message I recorded you? You put all my ather love t’shame.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan’s scowl breaks, just a tiny bit - he glances over at where Tony stands with Sammy and Snazz, then back at Pickles. While he still has his attention, the redhead continues, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>are my dream, babe. You know thet, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know thet.” He taps the black band on his left hand, and grins hopefully, “Is it naht metal fer me to call you my fianceee?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s, uh. Not metal, no. But I’ll allow it,” Nathan mutters, cracking the tiniest of smiles, and even though they haven’t told anybody outside the band they’re together yet, Pickles kisses him again. One of his hands slides up the side of the frontman’s chiseled face as he pushes in further to deepen it, and he tastes like vodka and saltwater and everything he’s ever wanted, and Nathan growls possessively before pulling him in close, hands tight on his lower back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next hour of the party goes much smoother than the first ten minutes - Pickles and Nathan hang out at the bar together, and they pal around with Toki, Skwisgaar, and Charles. He does notice, however, that Murderface is completely absent. He finds himself searching the crowd for him, but never lays eyes on curly brown hair or his typical vest-and-shorts combo. Even though he’s pissed at the mere idea that maybe their bassist really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one to invite Tony, Pickles can’t help but worry about whatever moody episode he’s going through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he’s starting to feel the hazy blanket of drunkenness, Skwisgaar winks at him, slipping away to prepare for his proposal. Toki doesn’t seem to catch on, merely clinging to Abigail as the two of them clink their drinks together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You guys wants to knows something?” Toki grins conspiratorially, then whispers to Abigail, “You alreadies knows.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh boy, here we go. It's all I've been hearing about for the past year,” she laughs, rolling her eyes fondly, and it’s nice, that they’re all cool with each other after everything that happened a year ago. She seems happy to be there, and there’s no more competition between her and Pickles, so they’ve finally reached a point where they can just have a good time together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I ams gonna asks Skwisgaar to marries me!” Toki says, a bit too loudly, and Pickles can’t help but laugh, because the blonde really does know him too well. “I gots dis real cools dragons rings and everythins! Y’knows, because of his things with always askins for dragons? I finallies gots him ones!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Pickles smirks. “When are ya gahnna do it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’s gonna gets him when he least expects it. He’s gonna haves no ideas, he’ll never sees it comins! And den he ams goins to cries like a cutes dumb babies,” Toki beams, clinking his drink against Abigail’s again. “I can’ts wait to sees the look on his face when--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lights overhead change, and a thick Swedish accent is coming in over a microphone. “Euugh, hellos? Ams dis thing ons?” Skwisgaar mutters, standing tall and handsome at the front of the room, spotlight shining down on him radiantly. Toki looks over at him, raising an eyebrow in surprise, and Pickles squeezes the bulky hand in his own excitedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ehm, thanks you all for comingks. Today...ams a veries importants day, fors, ums. Fors a lot of reasons. Ehhh...” Skwisgaar trails off, trying not to look nervous as he fidgets around. The room quiets, and he looks at Pickles worriedly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘You gaht this,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mouths, flashing him a thumbs up with his free hand, and Skwisgaar steels himself with a nod. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There was...moments where I thought me and Toki would nevor be together agains. Having to face dat - having to tries and prepare for a lifetime without him - was the hardest thing I evor had to does.” He looks over, locking eyes with Toki through the crowd of people, “But den, you comes back to mes. You always comes back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way they’re looking at each other - Toki’s pale blue eyes are absolutely sparking as he holds his hand that isn’t cradling a cup of vodka to his heart. Skwisgaar’s lips are curled up into this soft smile, cheeks flushed pink, and Pickles has known the guy for fifteen years and never seen him look so hopelessly stricken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gahd, lookit them,” he murmurs, and Nathan hums in response, leaning his head sideways so he can rest it on the crown of the redhead’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ams the most annoyingk porson I’ve evor mets,” Skwisgaar says airily, the crowd chuckling, and Nathan can see the teary-eyed brunette glaring playfully. “But my lifes ams worthless without yous in it, and I amnst evor lettingk you goes again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches into his pocket, and Pickles’ eyes threaten to cloud over with some very brutal tears. God, after seeing all the turmoil they went through to finally get here, he’s so fucking happy for them that he can barely stand feeling such positive emotion. But they deserve to have a good life together, and they deserve to be able to have this moment in front of everyone they know and love. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Toki,” Skwisgaar says tenderly, “I—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! Wait a fucking schecond. Forgetting about <em>me </em>as alwaysch, I schee.” Murderface suddenly appears from behind the blonde, and he snatches the microphone away from a shocked Skwisgaar roughly. “I have schomething to fucking schay too. Everyone! I‘d like your attenschion.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moidaface, I’m kinds of in de middles of somethingk,” Skwisgaar glares harshly at their bassist, reaching out a hand to take the microphone back from him, but he instantly recoils when he gets a look at the other man’s face. He gasps, “What’s de fucks—?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles sees it at the same time Skwisgaar does - their bassist looks completely fucked, and it’s impossible not to notice. His limbs are moving almost unnaturally - knees wobbly as he staggers around, feet turned in at awkward angles. His head kind of lolls to one side, shoulders hunched way further up than usual, and his </span>
  <em>
    <span>face</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His eyes are shrouded in deep, dark circles, flashing the same color of purple as the pulsating veins crawling up his arms and neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whet the fuck is wrahng with him?” Pickles whispers, gripping tight to Nathan’s arm, and the concern that rushes through him is deafening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I,” Murderface shoves Skwisgaar aside with a limp arm, messy curls falling into his face as he steps into the spotlight, “that I’ve been keeping a schecret for a long fucking time. And let the record schow that I am NOT gay, but...theresch an excheption...” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, I’ve gotta stahp ‘im before he fuckin’ embarrasses himself,” Pickles says, opening his palm up to release their intertwined hands, but Nathan holds on tight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he says gruffly. “He looks fucked up. I’ll handle this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nate’n, he listens t’me—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m the band leader,” Nathan says. “He’ll listen to me whether he likes it or not.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles doesn’t try to stop him as he starts walking towards Murderface, and the bassist is still talking, throwing a limp hand up in the air dramatically, “I’m schick of being afraid to take what I fucking want! I’m the foundation of thisch fucking band, and NOBODY would be here without me! I—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Murderface,” Nathan tries, glancing around at the confused expressions of their families and friends. He lowers his voice to a growling whisper, “Uh. What are you doing. Skwisgaar is trying to—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Propose to Toki? Yeah, Toki, he wantsch to marry you, and you’re obviouschly gonna schay yesch, and blah blah pissch whatever,” Murderface says into the microphone loudly, and the crowd starts murmuring in surprise, as Skwisgaar’s entire face falls into outraged disappointment. “Yeah, there, now he knowsch and theresch no surprische anymore, scho I’m gonna keep going with my thing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop,” Nathan growls, shoulders squaring up protectively. “You’re being a fucking dick, dude.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> a dick,” Murderface hisses, the purple veins bulging in his clenched fists. “And I’m not gonna schit by anymore and let you—“ he points at Nathan harshly, “take what’sch schupposched to be mine!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’ve never taken anything from you!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thisch should be MY band! I schtarted it! Nobody would be here without ME, and you take all the fucking credit!” Murderface takes an aggressive step forwards, and Nathan merely rolls his eyes in irritation, because they’ve all heard this before. He opens his mouth to reply, but then Murderface snatches Nathan’s wrist violently, and drops the microphone as he hisses something to the frontman. Whatever it is, the bigger man’s face darkens as he tears his wrist away, and the two of them step up into each other’s faces, something ominously burning between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, no!” Pickles maneuvers through the crowd, stressed and angry as he shoves his way between the two of them. He’s got one hand on Nathan’s chest, the other on their bassist’s, as he hisses, “Murderface, whet the fuck are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doin’</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The purple veins crawling up his arms and face glow, and then he drops Nathan’s wrist to grab Pickles by the arm, and he just...stares at him. The redhead probably looks as confused as he feels, pierced eyebrows knitting as they hold each other’s gaze. Finally, Murderface grinds out, “What am I to you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles blinks at him, not understanding the question. “Yer—yer my bassist, I dunno?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hand on his wrist squeezes harder, teeth gritting together. “Before we were in Dethklok. Did it mean anything to you at all?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ow! Knahck it ahff!” Pickles gasps, fingernails sinking into his skin, blood rolling down his wrist. “Will! Yer fuckin’ hurting me!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The minute he says that name - the name that Pickles hasn’t called him in at least fifteen years - some sort of recognition flickers across the other man’s face. The purple dies down for just a second, and he’s left looking lost and disoriented, staring at their drummer in a dumb-faced confusion. Nathan stares at him with wide eyes, fist reeled back to punch the shit out of him, but when he sees the look on his face, he hesitates. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Picklesch,” he whispers, swallowing visibly. He says more to himself than anyone, squeezing his eyes shut, “I’m—don’t make me fucking schay it like thisch.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will,” Pickles tries again, and Murderface’s eyes snap up to his own again. There’s so much emotion behind them - emotion that the redhead has never noticed, until now, and it practically strangles him. He’s not even sure he even wants to know the answer, but he asks anyways, breathing out, “Why are you lookin’ at me like thet?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did it mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>to you?” he repeats, a desperation in his grating voice, and suddenly, Pickles knows exactly what he’s talking about. His eyes flash over to Nathan, who looks completely lost, as he remembers the floor of a shitty Los Angeles apartment, and Murderface’s hands running through his thick red hair, tongues sliding together and his small hands tugging him on top of him by the vest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nathan’s not right for you. <em>Nobody </em>hasch ever been right for you,” he says, curls falling into his gaunt face, the lights illuminating him in a ghastly way as he tries to tug him closer. </span>
  <span>It all clicks, suddenly. Murderface hated Tony, because he wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tony. He hated Magnus, and he resents Nathan, for the same reason, and the light of realization hits him like a freight train. He doesn’t say anything - doesn’t know what to fucking say - and Murderface drops his voice to a whisper, as if he wasn’t about to yell it out in front of everyone just a second ago, “It’sch not a schuprische, that I’m in love with you. It schouldn’t be, if you ever paid fucking attenschion.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Murderface,” Pickles squeezes his eyes shut, trying to pull away as stupid fucking tears raise to his eyes, and he can’t look at Nathan, or at Skwisgaar’s dropped jaw from where he stands next to them. God, he such a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How could he have missed this, after all these years? After sleepless nights of Murderface holding his hair back for him as he vomited his guts up into the toilet, after him being the only one who came to the hospital when he OD’d, after the innumerable jealous remarks and the stolen looks, and Pickles suddenly feels like he’s going to faint. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that you guysch broke up, you were gonna schay it earlier, and I’m not gonna wait thisch time to--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dood, stahp, please,” Pickles shakes his head, sickness and despair rising in his throat. “No, no, we...we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>engaged</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Murderface. We’re gettin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The bassist blinks at him, and he whispers, “I’m so sahrry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The heartbreak is visible on his face, raw and painful and devastated as his dogish features twist up into agony, and fuck, if it doesn’t break Pickles’ heart right back, to see him so hurt after everything they’ve been through. He wants to say something to make it better, but there’s nothing he can do but stand there in front of everyone they know helplessly, as Murderface shoves him away, chest heaving with emotion and tears threatening to fall from his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you, Picklesch,” he whispers, and when he blinks, tears pour from his eyes--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” Pickles gasps, because those aren’t fucking tears. That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>blood</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just like Toki, just like when he opened the door and saw their rhythm guitarist bleeding out of every orifice in his face, and then it’s like a flip is suddenly switched as their bassist’s face changes. It’s consumed with darkness, and the emotion clicks straight off, as he shoves past them all, rushing off the stage and out the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crowd is silent. Toki has his hands over his mouth, tears running down his face as he breathes raggedly. Charles, usually emotionless, looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because they saw the blood and they all know what that fucking means</span>
  <span>. It’s too much, and Murderface might be a dick, but he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>been there for Pickles. This in mind, he doesn’t wait to rush after him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pickles, wait,” Nathan manages through his shock, and Skwisgaar is grabbing Toki and Charles is at their heels, and they’re all running down the hall after him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles might be small, but he’s a fast motherfucker. It doesn’t take him long to catch up enough to see Murderface’s figure barreling down the stairs that lead to the basement of Mordhaus. He’s right at his heels, adrenaline and fear pushing him on as he hits the bottom. It’s dark, and dimly lit, and for a second, his head whips around as he loses sight of the brunette. But then, he spots him - flipping something on a far wall, and Pickles gets a good enough look to see, as he draws closer, that he’s walking into...a cell? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Murderface?” Pickles calls, frame shaking, because he suddenly has a very, very bad feeling. He forces himself to walk closer, peering in through the thick bars and squinting through the darkness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t remember,” a familiar, raspy voice snarls from behind the bars. “Fuck, man! Leave me alone, I don’t fucking remember...” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tremor rakes through Pickles’ entire body, eyes blown wide as his breathing cuts right off. The dim basement light illuminates the scene in front of him in a horrifying light - Magnus Hammersmith, chained to the ground by a collar around his neck. <br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he gasps, stumbling backwards, panic and terror stabbing through him like a knife, and the world blinks out around him as he crumbles, just in time for Nathan to catch him. <br/></span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. anniversary: part two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter gets WILD fair warning &gt;:)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bloody, unfocused eyes squint through the darkness as someone comes into his cell. He cowers, at first, expecting it to be the business man or that blonde Swedish asshole - instead, he’s greeted with some fucked-up looking dog-faced guy, who makes quick work of unlatching the collar around his neck. He looks up at the unfamiliar face in front of him, and before he can ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>who the fuck are you supposed to be? </span>
  </em>
  <span>there’s a grating, whispering command in his ear, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Take the door underneath the schtaricasche. You owe the Maschter a favor. Escape podsch are in the left wing of the Haus.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voice in his head whispers </span>
  <em>
    <span>you know where to find me, Magnus. You’d better hurry up before the Dead Man catches you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He gets off his knees for the first time in what feels like months, and with more strength than he thought he’d have at this point, he’s stepping out of the cell and into the dim lights of the basement he’s been confined to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first thing he sees is a hulking man cradling a passed-out redhead on the floor in front of him, and he’s so absorbed in trying to wake him that he doesn’t even look up. He looms above them, eyes trained on the smaller man, some sense of heart-wrenching familiarity striking him. A memory - no, a lie he’d been told - flashes through his mind - </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you, dood. Naht him. Alright?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Seeing the two of them together...strokes some type of rage in him, that he wasn't sure was there, and <em>yes yes yes, take that rage, feed on it. </em><br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pickles. Pickles, come on,” the dark-haired man is saying, and he runs his fingers over some purple-looking gouge-marks in the redhead’s wrist with blatant worry. He gives him a gentle shake before pressing their foreheads together, growling voice a desperate plea, “Wake the fuck up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m right here with you...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles. Why does that name sound so familiar? He sees a flash, of wild hair and runny makeup and a finger pointing at him from where the guy stands onstage, mouthing <em>look at</em> <em>me, </em>even though they both know he can't take his eyes off him anyways.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snaps out of whatever daze the scene in front of him had put him under - the dark-haired man notices he’s there, eyes widening and jaw dropping as they make the briefest of eye contact, and then he’s running down the hall as fast as his bare feet can carry him. Just as he hears the familiar sound of polished dress shoes slamming down the stairs, he throws open the door he’d been told to go through, closing it behind him without a sound as he makes his escape.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar, personally, is </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He does not like being upstaged - especially not by Murderface - and somehow, the proposal that he’s been planning since the day Toki came back has been suddenly ripped away from him. Tonight was supposed to be one of the best nights of his life, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Toki’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>life - just like how it was a year ago to the day. But this is a mockery of that - instead of feeling sickeningly overjoyed as he watches his partner admire the ridiculously expensive ring on his finger, they’re running down the hall after their demonically-possessed bassist, feeling sick for an entirely different, much less pleasant reason. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next to him, Toki is talking a mile a minute as their boots slam against the floor underneath them, and while he hasn’t been sent into a spiraling panic yet over the blood that they all saw oozing from Murderface’s eyes, Skwisgaar somehow knows that it’s coming. “--can’t fuckins </span>
  <em>
    <span>believes </span>
  </em>
  <span>it! I thoughts we destroyeds him when we gots him out of my heads! And since we ams underswaters, I thoughts he can’ts get in de house!? Poor Moidaface, he must be so scareds, we gots to helps him before he tries to does somethins crazies, likes when I almost burnsed you guys up in de bus, and I--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Skwisgaar,” Charles’ voice is deadly serious where he strides down the hall ahead of them, and as they approach the end of the hallway, he turns around and says almost desperately to the blonde, “I think, ah. I think they’re in the basement.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar stops dead in his tracks, halting Toki with him, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>no. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Toki cannot, under any circumstances, know what’s been going on in the darkest parts of Mordhaus. As their manager starts down the staircase that leads to the bottom floor of Mordhaus, the brunette looks to the Swede frantically, “Why you stops?! We gots to gets to Moidaface!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You amnst going down dere,” Skwisgaar says, a strange tick to his left eye as he starts trying to turn them around, starts trying to think of a way to convince the most hard-headed person he knows to go gently back into the soiree room before all his progress is shattered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whats you talkins abouts? You sees him bleedins out his eyes, Skwisgaar! He gots the demons whats in his brain, just like I dids! If anyone should tries and helps him, it’s mes!” Toki exclaims, trying to pull in the other direction, but the grip on his arm is tight and insistent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just--yous don’ts--” the blonde tries pulling harder, but they both know the brunette is stronger than him. Toki plants his feet on the ground firmly, merely looking confused as Skwisgaar tries to keep yanking him back the way they came. He huffs, increasingly stressed, “Just liskens to mes! You can’ts go down dere! I wills--euuughh--” his hair curtains his face as his feet move against the ground, trying his best to move the other man, “--nots be allowingks its! Fucks! Why ams you so sturdies?!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why ams </span>
  <em>
    <span>yous </span>
  </em>
  <span>actins so weirds?” Toki finally rips his arm away, and grabs the blonde by the shoulders. He blanches at the terrified look on Skwisgaar’s face, golden hair falling in his huge eyes, and the two of them stare at each other tensely for several beats. The brunette gives him a shake, “What the fucks ams in the basements?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I,” Skwisgaar’s eyes dart around in a panic, “I-I don’ts...you doesn’t wants to knows.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I reallies </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Skwisgaar! Whatever it ams, it’s got you all scareds, and I wants you to be okays!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It amnst </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>who...who ams scareds of dis.” The Swede grabs his shoulders back, squeezing desperately. “You cant’s be seesing hims, Tokis. He ams down dere for...for </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> protections...” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki’s confusion only furthers, his eyebrows knitting together as he shakes his head. “Whats? Who?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And in that moment, Murderface runs past them. Toki and Skwisgaar both jump, because for someone who hates physical activity and movement in general, their bassist is supernaturally </span>
  <em>
    <span>fast</span>
  </em>
  <span>, shoving past them both and barreling down the hallway. They get a glimpse of his bleeding, purple-tinted eyes, the wildness of his unkempt hair, and then he’s gone, turning a corner and out of sight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moidface!” Toki yells after him, ready to put all his years on the ellipticals to use and sprint after him. But with speed like that, their bassist must be long gone. Instead of chasing him down, Toki chooses the next best thing - taking the distraction to get away, he makes a beeline for the basement, pounding down the staircase as Skwisgaar yells out a frustrated </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘fucks</span>
  </em>
  <span>!’ behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tokis! Justs--lets me explains!” he yells after him, a flight or two above him as he follows quickly behind. “You don’ts wants to goes down dere, I’m tellingk yous!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I amnst a little kids, Skwisgaar! You doesn’t has to protects me from whatsever it ams!” Toki calls back determinedly, and a wild panic starts to throttle the blonde as he stumbles quickly after him. Usually, Skwisgaar doesn’t think about the consequences of his actions - but now, there’s like a vision clouding the blues of his eyes, and it makes him woozy with a strangling panic. What if he sees Magnus, and does the thing where he spirals down into his punishment hole? What if he’s sent into one of his blind animal rages, or worse - </span>
  <em>
    <span>cries</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yous been doingks so goods! Dis ams goingks to ruins all your progress!” Skwisgaar practically jumps down the last flight of stairs, tackling Toki to the ground and straddling him, pinning his wrists to the ground underneath him. He breathes raggedly, “Stops beingks such a stupid dildo and </span>
  <em>
    <span>liskens </span>
  </em>
  <span>to mes!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The brunette’s eyes are wide with shock, as he stares up into Skwisgaar’s face, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. The cell is almost in their eyeline, and he knows he has to explain himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Where does he start? How does he tell Toki that Charles had told him they needed to keep Magnus alive, that they needed information from him, and he had taken the option to try and extract it from him himself? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Charles!” Nathan’s voice booms frantically to the right of them, startling the guitarists. “What the fuck is going on? Why is </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> in our fucking house?!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is he?” Charles’ voice demands. “Why isn’t he in his cell?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whats</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Skwisgaar gasps, blue eyes huge as he scrambles off of Toki, barreling to the end of the hall without another word. Toki makes a noise of frustration as he follows tight at the blonde’s heels, yelling, “Who ams in de house, Skwisgaar? You saids you’d tells it to mes, so says it!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything feels like it’s spiraling away from him, and his voice is stuck in his throat as he forces himself to storm over to the scene in front of them. Nathan is standing there, an unconscious Pickles bridal-style in his arms, and he looks more panicked than the blonde has seen him in a long time. His face is ghostly white, strands of dark hair in his eyes as his big shoulders heave, and he yells, “You said he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>! You were--? You were fucking keeping him in our house this </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire time</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he horts Pickle?” Skwisgaar gasps, instantly noticing the wound on their drummer’s limp wrist. This all must be a lot for their frontman’s brain to handle at once - seeing Tony, finding out about Murderface’s feelings for Pickles, discovering their old rhythm guitarist in the basement. For someone usually so strong and closed-off, his face is raw with panic and confusion, and it just makes the blonde feel more like everything’s falling apart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, he--Murderface grabbed him there, I think,” Nathan breathes raggedly, shaking his head and bringing a curtain of hair with him. Body feeling like it’s on autopilot, Skwisgaar peers into the tiny cell at the far end of the wall, and he feels Toki’s familiar body looming behind him as he’s greeted with emptiness - the only evidence that Magnus had been there, is the open collar connected to a chain on the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where de </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucks </span>
  </em>
  <span>ams he,” Skwisgaar demands through his teeth, shoulders hunched up and blonde hair swinging as he turns to look at the other two wildly. He cannot, however, look at Toki, whose voice sounds tearful as he yells again, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Skwisgaar?” even though the blonde is pretty sure he’s already figured it out by now. He just wants to hear him say it, to twist the knife, to drive the betrayal home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Murderface--he went in, and--I don’t fucking know, he went in and Magnus came out!” Nathan says, and Toki’s body sways as he stumbles backwards, shoulders hitting the opposite wall to keep him from falling over. Skwisgaar squeezes his eyes shut, hands in his hair, and his world feels like it’s been doused in gasoline and lit up in flames and is burning to the ground before his very eyes - especially when the frontman whips his head over to him, and breathes out, “Wait. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You and Charles, you--you </span>
  <em>
    <span>kept this </span>
  </em>
  <span>from us?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nathan, I will explain </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>to you,” their manager says, holding his hands up placatingly, but the hint of expression on his face tells Skwisgaar that he’s just as nervous as the blonde is. “But right now, we need to make sure everyone in the Haus is safe, and that he doesn’t--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know why everyone keeps fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgetting this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I’m the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>band leader. Don’t you think this is something I should’ve know about?!” Nathan exclaims, face red with fury. “You really thought it was a good idea to keep a fucking psychopath down here? With fucking Pickles in the house, who can’t even hear his name without going hysterical? Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Toki</span>
  </em>
  <span>, who--oh, Toki…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he doesn’t want to look. But he knows he has to, knows he deserves it, so he does. Against the wall, Toki looks eviscerated - both his hands clamped over his mouth as tears roll down his pale face, features screaming with betrayal and terror as his eyes meet Skwisgaar’s. He gasps through his fingers, eyebrows knitting together bitterly and voice broken, “How could you </span>
  <em>
    <span>does this</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde hasn’t seen that look on Toki’s face before - the only thing akin to it was when he told Skwisgaar he loved him outside the bus, and was met with rejection in response. And what had happened that time? Toki had </span>
  <em>
    <span>left him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A wild urge to defend himself bubbles up, and the blonde says desperately, “Charlie says we cants kills him, so where de fuck else ams we supposed to keeps him? He was just down dere, and Charlie neededs help, so I figures who ams bettor than mes to--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You thinks dis ams a fuckins joke?!” Toki exclaims, eyes suddenly swallowed in fury, and at first Skwisgaar doesn’t understand, but the brunette keeps talking half-hysterically, “You thinks I screams myself awake just because I’ms goofin around? I fuckins </span>
  <em>
    <span>dieds </span>
  </em>
  <span>to keeps you away from hims! You ever considers about what happens if he gets out, Skwisgaar? Because here we fuckins ams! Dis amnst somethins you can mess around with!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was <em>just down dere</em>, and I hads to--” Skwisgaar gesticulates wildly, making a noise of frustration. “I mean, fucks! You tells me you wouldnst have dones the same thing, if de guy dat fucks with me ams--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldnst have fuckins kept dat secret from yous!” Toki yells, pale blue eyes huge. “‘Oh, hey Toki! De guy dat puts you through hells ams sleepins three floors down from yous everies nights! But I sits with you in therapies everies day anysways and tries to acts like everythins ams okays!’ Is dat simple!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everythingk </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>okays, because I knows where he ams! He cants horts you if we gots him dere!” Skwisgaar begs, his own eyes burning with unshed tears. “Charlie says we gots to keep him here, and so there was nothingk I can does except tries and helps him get what he wants! And de information he neededs was to helps you, too!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how you does dat? You puts him in a fuckins </span>
  <em>
    <span>collar</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Toki’s eyes are tearful as he gestures to the cell, “You thinks dat ams funnies, to treats someone like dey’s an animals? How can you </span>
  <em>
    <span>does dat </span>
  </em>
  <span>to someone?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face burns, “Noes! I just--it ams--” he makes another noise of frustration, voice dripping with anger at the memory of the way his love had been kept underground, “Magnus thinks it am suchs a good way to tortures someone, so I gives him a fuckingk taste of his own medicines!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You thinks it’s dat simple? He just chains me up and beats me around a little? Nothins you does to him will </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>be compares-able to what he does to me! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>neededs</span>
  </em>
  <span> a collar because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>mades me</span>
  </em>
  <span> a fuckin animal,” Toki growls darkly, fists clenching. “You haves </span>
  <em>
    <span>no idea </span>
  </em>
  <span>what he ams capable of, what he’s willing to does to a porson, and now he ams lose in our fuckins house!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You donts undorstands,” the blonde begs, “If I tells you, den everythingks yous been building towards woulds have been up in smokes. I was just tryingk to protects you from all dis, I didnst--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up, both of you. It doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>matter</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Nathan growls furiously, holding Pickles tighter to himself protectively. “Now we’ve got </span>
  <em>
    <span>two </span>
  </em>
  <span>crazy people running around here, with everybody we fucking know in the other room. We need to find them. And we need to stick together until we do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde’s throat and eyes sting with unshed tears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Until we do</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Does that mean he’s going to be kicked out of the band? Thrown out of the house, for keeping this from them? Or will they leave him, all by himself in this castle of a house? He can’t bring himself to say anything more, especially as Toki looks away from him bitterly, sliding down the wall with his face over his hands as he shakes with anger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they make it back upstairs, Charles tells everyone there’s been a gas leak, and they’ll all be given complimentary rooms to stay in, in the left wing of Mordhaus. Their families seem eager enough to mooch off their resources, and everyone in general is pretty jazzed about getting to stay overnight in a house that they’re usually so closed off from the rest of the world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they lead their guests to their rooms, Skwisgaar is talking to Tyr - the older man asking him fondly how life has been for him lately, but he’s having trouble concentrating. The minute Toki had seen Abigail, he was falling all over her. Currently, as they trudge down the hall, he’s sobbing into her shoulder, clutching at her desperately, and she’s asking him, “What, honey? What’s wrong? Toki?” Skwisgaar forces himself to look away, completely ashamed, and almost jealous, that he can’t be the one comforting him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woah, huh. Looks like my lil’ brother had too much to drink, yeah?” Seth is chuckling where he walks next to Nathan, who had refused to put their drummer down for even a second. “Could never fuckin’ hold his alcohol, y’know? Fuckin’ lightweight, huh.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what we did wrahng with ‘im,” Pickles’ mother sighs, and Nathan looks like he actually might slap her as he grunts negatively in response. She pats Seth’s shoulder tenderly, “At least I gaht one good son, who isn’t always rahnnin’ around high, or screwin’ up the ecahnomy--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan's eyes narrow. “Um, Mrs...Pickles’ mom. You should, uh. Shut the fuck up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“--it’s a shame about you and Aember, though,” she continues over the frontman solemnly, and Seth feigns sadness as he wipes a nonexistent tear away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ma, it’s still too fresh, y’know,” the brunette sighs, glancing over at where his wife and kid walk behind them. “She wanted the divorce, huh, I dunno. I give her all the money she wants, and y’know, and it still ain’t enough. ‘Australian strippers don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>count</span>
  </em>
  <span>,’ that’s the fuckin’ motto our marriage was based on. ‘For better or for worse,’ y’know? It’s fucked up. It’s probably because Pickles fuckin’ works me too hard, never got any time to pal around with the kid, huh.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gahd knows she’s the only dauhter I’m ever gahnna get, ‘cause Pickles is so hellbent on naht settlin’ down! Closest he ever came was with that...eh, whet was his name?” she snaps her fingers, trying to think. “The guy from his little band, who he braght to Christmas?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan visibly tenses, especially as Seth scratches his chin in though, “Oh, huh, I dunno. The guy with the hat and eyeliner? Eugh, if I had to see the two of them fuckin’ sucking face for another minute--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, naht him! The ahther kid - Rose’s grandson!” Pickles’ mother says, and Nathan’s head whips over to her. Seth huffs as he rolls his eyes, “Huh, oh yeah. That guy was fuckin’ pathetic. Couldn’t even tell how fuckin’ gay Pickles was for him--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“JUST GET IN YOUR ROOM,” Nathan thunders, yanking open a door and practically shoving them inside, before he stomps away. This probably wasn’t a good day for Skwisgaar to unintentionally cross their frontman - he’s already dealing with </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough </span>
  </em>
  <span>drama. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, ba-babay!” Rockso is suddenly on Skwisgaar’s arm, and there’s a knife suddenly pointing into his back. His voice lowers threateningly, “You the reason C-C-C-Toki is cryin’?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eugh, I don’t haves time for your shits,” the blonde rolls his eyes, completely unphased. The amounts of time this fucking clown has held him at knife-point since he’s started dating Toki is frankly offensive. While up until this point they’ve been blissfully happy, they naturally still bicker and argue - that’s just a part of their dynamic. Somehow, whenever they’re feuding, Rockso </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> seems to know about it. “Gets de fucks into yous room, alrights?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just makin’ sure our little guy is c-c-c-cool,” Roscko says passively. He nudges the blonde in the shoulder, “Y’know he was gonna pop the question tonight, ba-babay? So you better not c-c-c-fuck that up for him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar sighs forlornly, because he had suspected as much. At the beginning of this night, he was so sure he’d be going to bed with his </span>
  <em>
    <span>fiance </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his arms, not watching Toki sob hysterically all over Abigail because of something he’d done. Roscko must be able to sense this, because he drops the knife, exchanging it for something </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span> from his pocket, and Skwisgaar’s eyes light up dangerously when he sees it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I gotta tell you a secret,” Roscko whispers, then yells loudly in his ear, “I DO COCAINE! And you can too, ba-baby…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Noes, I-I, ehhm…” Skwisgaar’s mouth goes dry at the sight of the baggie of white that’s suddenly being shoved into his hands. He’s been sober since he stopped stealing pills from Pickles last year - his overdose was another thing, that he’d been to ashamed to tell Toki about - and while he’s been itching to be dragged into the comforting abyss that only drugs can offer, he knows he can’t let himself indulge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be such a c-c-c-prude,” Roscko laughs, ruffling the top of Skwisgaar’s golden head before galloping away, joining the rest of Zazz Blammymatazz in their room. The blonde thinks about throwing the baggie down, just as much as he thinks about dropping to his knees and snorting it off the floor - instead, he stuffs it in his pocket, and continues on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After their guests are all settled in their rooms, the four of them, plus Abigail, are holed up in Nathan’s room. The frontman refuses to leave their drummer, who’s still sleeping soundly in the crook of a burly arm, and even through their current conflict, both guitarists are adamant about the other staying away from the search entirely. So, Charles and the Klokateers begin sweeping every inch of the house - the band has been warned, however, that Mordhaus is an extremely expansive place. Especially now that they’re underwater, there’s so many pipes and tunnels and places that they could be hiding. All they can do is wait. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pickles,” Nathan says, where he sits on the floor with their drummer, still trying to shake him awake. His eyes are teary with frustration, and his voice has more desperation to it when he shakes him again, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pickles</span>
  </em>
  <span>...wake the hell up, man. Come on already, what the fuck are you waiting for?” he squeezes his eyes shut, a tear running down his face, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to tell me what to do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar’s heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>aches </span>
  </em>
  <span>for him, because he knows exactly how he’s feeling. Waiting for Toki to wake up out of his coma, feeling lost and worthless without him, was the absolute definition of brutal. Even though Nathan might be the face of Dethklok - Pickles has always been the brains behind the brawn. All big decisions, on albums or concerts or songwriting, were volleyed to their drummer before the frontman would make a choice. Maybe like Toki and Skwisgaar, the two of them can’t function without each other, either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Said brunette has basically reverted back to how he was when he and Abigail were stuck in the basement, and Skwisgaar had been right - knowing about Magnus seemingly has quashed all his progress. They’re off in another corner of the room, the producer holding him in her arms, rocking him back and forth, singing softly to him as he shakes violently. He’d told her, about what was going on, and Skwisgaar can see a wild, fearful look in her eyes, similar to the look on Toki’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What had Magnus done to them? What did Toki mean, when he said Magnus turned him into an animal? As usual, he wants to know, but he’s not sure if he’s strong enough to hear it. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Pickles knows that he’s dreaming again - his mind blankets itself in a comforting static, as scenes from his past roll themselves out in front of him. He sees Tony, raising an eyebrow at him from the inside of his car, the rain pouring down so hard that he can barely blink them away to see those tired, dark-rimmed eyes for the first time. He sees Sammy and Snazz, laughing and cheering from the rooftop of their LA Penthouse, the first night they ever moved in together, the lights of the city sparkling and dancing on their excited faces. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A memory of Toki bubbles to the surface next. Pickles remembers, somewhere distantly, that he was actually the first one to see the brunette’s scars. He had gotten out of the shower in their shitty first apartment, and didn’t have time to cover himself when he looked to the floor and saw Pickles vomiting into their tiny toilet. His drummer looked up, “Sahrry, dude, Murderface is usin’ the other one, ‘n you know how fuckin’ rank he—“ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The words died on Pickles’ throat, as Toki tried his best to cover himself, embarrassed and flushed as he squeaks, “Donts looks at mes!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Pickles looked away, face back into the toilet, and he could just practically feel Toki falling apart. For some reason, he’d blurted, “I have some too, dude. Naht like, as visible as yers, but...here. I saw yers, I’ll show ya mine. Sound fair?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Toki swallowed thickly, too nervously to say anything, and Pickles took that as enough acceptance of his offer. He lifted up his shirt, a thick, jagged scar horizontal across his right rib. Toki’s hand fluttered over his mouth, “Wowee.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, I know. Used to date a guy who was kinda...stab-crazy,” Pickles snorted, rolling his eyes. Memories of Magnus threaten to shove their way to the front of his mind, but he pushes them away  - refuses to hear that voice dripping like poison in his ear, those long fingers squeezing half-threateningly around his throat, thick curls tickling his cheek as he sinks under the dark abyss of whatever drug was being needled into his arms by hands that are not his own. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Instead, he sees Skwisgaar, the first time he ever met him - playing impressive riffs on his guitar, smirking haughtily as he flips his hair over a shoulder. “You may be de big deal celebrities, but I ams a fuckingk gods,” he’d said, and Pickles liked him ever since. Trusted him enough to be the first one he ever told about his crush on Nathan, and oh, Nathan…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Visions of his frontman flash before his eyes - rippling muscles in a black cutoff, shy smiles behind a dark curtain of hair. The two of them, becoming best friends, hanging all over each other as they stumble together down the streets of Paris on their first friender-bender, curling up together for warmth during a rainy night on a shitty mattress. And then, he sees more - a smoke-filled kiss at a party they’d guilted Charles into throwing, a shocking kiss in a coatroom. The big guy with a tear-streaked face, as the two of them gave into each other for the first time - the growling moans in his ear, the big hands touching him and running all over him like he’s something fragile and precious. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you,” Nathan had whispered to him, on what they’d thought would be Toki’s last night before succumbing to the poison that he’d be given the following day. His forehead was pressed against Pickles’, labored breath hot on his mouth and a freckled calf gripped in his black-painted fingers, and Pickles had nearly sobbed, because he’d loved Nathan Explosion since the day they first met, and he never could’ve imagined in his wildest dreams that he’d feel the same way. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why is he seeing all this? When did he even fall asleep? It’s like someone is sifting through his memories, pulling the best ones to the forefront - not that he minds. He lets it happen, falls into the comforting embrace, faintly aware of a sweet stinging sensation in his wrist. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He sees Will next. Sitting at the cash register, looking bored with his chin in his palm, and the way his eyes lit up the first time they looked at each other. He rough hands holding back his wild red hair and picking him up off the ground, that familiar voice muttering, “You’re schtaying with me.” And he did - even when there were times that he really didn’t want the fucker around, they always stayed together. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But his memories bring up things that he’d seen, but never really noticed before. Eyes snapping away when Pickles would feel like he’s being looked at, embarrassed blushing when the redhead would walk through their shitty apartment in a towel. He sees the motorcycle ride, before they crashed into Tony, when Will had paused, holding his face, mouths inches apart. They way he was looking at him there...he always looked at him like that. Even when he was feuding with Tony, and telling him, “Magnusch is a crazy pieche of schit. You know that, right?” Even when Pickles and Nathan stood up in front of the band, announcing that they’d entered a relationship with each other. He always looked at him like that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How many times, had Will gone with him to parties, just to look out for him? How many times did he come back for him, even when Pickles kept fucking up his own life over and over? Sitting in waiting rooms, slapping him in the face so he wouldn’t pass out, coming to his Snakes ‘n Barrels shows and sitting in the crowd like he’d rather be anywhere else - but he still always came. How had he never realized, that his bassist was hopelessly in love with him the entire time? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay with me, a voice murmurs to him. Stay with the memories. Stay in the dreams. It will guide you to the ending. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you, Nathan Explosion, take, ah. Pickles the Drummer, to be your husband?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The air is dreamy and cold around them, where they stand together in a raging snowstorm. His vision is tunneled, blurred out on the sides - but he can see the shadows of Dethklok’s guitarists, holding hands and armor-clad, and Charles standing in front of them, donned in his black Church robe. Where’s Murderface? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I do,” Nathan hears himself say, and he sounds like he’s been crying. “I really fucking do.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And Pickles? Do you take Nathan, to be your husband?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The frontman follows the hands crushed up in his own, to the body they’re attached to. Pickles’ green eyes are full of tears, ice clinging to the soft hair of his goatee, and he grins crookedly before opening his mouth--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan’s eyes peel open, and he can’t breathe. He gasps for air, lungs begging for it, and his brain kicks into overtime as he tries to figure out what the hell is going on. His vision is full of thick, dark smoke, and his memories of the day’s events are blurry - but they slowly begin to come back to him. He remembers the party, the failed proposal, the gaunt face of their old rhythm guitarist looming over himself and Pickles…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When did he fall asleep? How could he have fallen asleep, with Magnus Hammersmith and a possessed Murderface crawling through Mordhaus? He scrambles as he looks down, to see Pickles still sleeping in his arms, cuddled against him. Normally, the visage of his sweet freckled face would melt him - but he remembers that he all he wants is for the little guy to wake the fuck up. Especially now, as smoke continues to flood into the room, and he coughs as he tries to shake him awake again. His injured wrist dangles, purple runes of symbols crawling up the soft inner meat of his forearm. That’s...probably not good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles doesn’t stir no matter how much he’s shaken, and Nathan feels a spike of terror spiral through him. He can’t fucking lose Pickles. He won’t, he absolutely refuses to, and he recognizes that he needs to get the two of them out of there. He doesn’t know how much smoke he’s already inhaled - when he stands, he feels terribly dizzy, but he shrugs it the fuck off and carries his drummer bridal-style as he starts trying to maneuver around the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the band was supposed to stay locked in his room with him, so they should be here. He might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking pissed at Skwisgaar right now, but he’s not leaving this room until he’s got his guitarists in tow with him. He spots Toki curled up on his bed, sans Abigail - maybe she went back to her own room. Skwisgaar is in Nathan’s easy chair, and the frontman goes to him first, setting Pickles on the bed before grabbing the blonde by a shoulder and slapping him hard across the face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“HHEUUH!” he yells, jerking upright, and when he gasps the black smoke instantly enters his lungs. He’s sent into a coughing fit, blue eyes snapping up to Nathan in alarm, “What de fucks?” He looks around, taking in the smoky room with an instant worriedness, “Ams dere a fuckingks dragons or some shits? Whats ams goingk ons?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Nathan grinds out, rushing over to where Toki lays on the bed, the brunette’s partner at his heels. He knows he can’t be as rough with their rhythm guitarist, because he spooks so easily, so he scoops Pickles back up before turning to Skwisgaar, “Wake him up. We need to get out of--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An explosion shakes the entirety of Mordhaus, rattling the ground so hard that Nathan drops to his knees, almost dropping the redhead in his arms. This is something he’s never discussed before at their therapy sessions, because it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>not metal - but ever since the funeral, loud noises have kind of...freaked him out. It’s so gay, because he’s a fucking rockstar, and pyrotechnics and ominous booming sounds are like, the entirety of his career. But sure enough, when another explosion makes the house tremble just as hard, he feels a nervous panic grip at every fibre of his being, and he knows they need to get out, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki mutters sleepily in protest, rubbing at his eyes as Skwisgaar pulls him to his feet. Nathan takes this time to look around his room, and grab the one thing that means anything to him - his anniversary present from Pickles, which he stuffs quickly into his pocket. “Why ams it so smokies? I leaves the lunchables in de firebox agains?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Comes on, we gots to goes,” Skwisgaar says, pulling him along, ignoring the tension that still brews between the two of them. They catch up to where Nathan stands at the door, and he kicks into Band Leader more, hiding his nose and mouth in Pickles’ dreads to try and prevent smoke inhalation (and not because they smell so intoxicating and comforting, doused in their drummer’s usual garbage can cologne). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” he says, voice muffled. “Whatever’s going on out there, we stick together as a band. Our families are in the left wing, and so are the escape pods. That’s where we’re going.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did Abigails leave?” Toki asks, pale blue eyes huge with worry. His head whips around, “Where ams she?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She wents back to her rooms, once you falls asleeps,” Skwisgaar replies, and a nervous tremor visibly rakes its way through the brunette’s body. “She says her and Charlies and Knubblers ams sharins a room, so if she ams with hims, then she gots to be fines.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This seems to calm Toki down a little, and he coughs into the crook of his arm as Skwisgaar yanks open the door for them. The minute they pull it open, they jump backwards, fire and smoke pouring into the room. “Fuck!” Nathan exclaims, because it’s worse than he’d thought - everything is absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>blazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Guys, be careful--just, follow me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carrying a passed-out drummer in his arms and maneuvering through the flaming remains of his house is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> as easy as it sounds, and the sight of Mordhaus disappearing into dust around them is kind of...making him feel queasy, in an emotional type of way. This house might have been half-destroyed, extended into the sky, lowered into the water - but it’s always held its own. Now, he has a feeling that there’s not going to be much of it left, especially as he feels the structure slowly, slowly sinking into the depths of the ocean around them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walls, ceilings, and furniture melt before their very eyes. Molten metal drips and splatters all around them as they shove their way down the hall, passing through their beloved entertainment room - Nathan dares a glance at it, and wishes he hadn’t. The couch that they’d made so many memories palling around on is nothing but ash, the hot tub is nothing more than a flaming hole in the ground. Their TVs have fallen off the hooks they’re mounted on, crashed and shattered on the floor. He hears Toki whine out a coughed-out sob behind him at the scene, and honestly, he’s kind of glad Pickles is asleep for this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another giant noise - except this time, the three of them are sent spiraling into a wall as the house shifts and tilts in the water, creaking loudly as it starts to tip to one side. “Fucks!” Skwisgaar exclaims, scrambling to find some purchase as he shoves his way into his room across the hall - Toki yells after him in a panic, but he’s back with them in a matter of seconds. He tosses the brunette his Deaddy, who crushes it close to himself, and has two hefty cases underneath his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really need all of that?” Nathan wheezes, the smoke burning his eyes and causing tears to roll down his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ja, I does! Dis ams irreplacekable,” Skwisgaar says back, handing the black box to Toki, who may still be royally pissed with the blonde, but his eyes sparkle with unshed tears. They continue down the hall, helping each other over fallen molten beams, trying to remain upright as the house continues to tip. Finally, they make their way through the wreckage, and enter the wing that their families are staying in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad?” Nathan forces out, looking around desperately as he tries to remember what room he’d been put in. “Mom, I--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words die in his throat. The entire left wing of the house has been ravaged by fire - doors have melted off their hinges, and it’s eerily, dauntingly silent. Nobody is there. Nobody except Seth, fucking Tony - minus one leg, holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and Charles, who’s waiting at the entrance to the escape pods, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he must have gotten them all to safety in the shuttles they came down in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Charles!” Nathan yells, the fire blazing as he shoves his way over to where their manager is, the guitarists tight at his heels. “Charles, where the fuck is everybody? Where is--?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my gods!” Toki gasps, rushing through fire to get over to one of the doorless rooms. “Noes! Noes, oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tokis! What ams--?” the blonde is right behind him, and he throws his hands over his mouth and gasps in shock as he looks into the room. Nathan suddenly doesn’t want to look. He suddenly wants to be out of this house, out of this plane of existence, because he looks at Charles’ grim face and has a very, very bad feeling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toki rushes away from that doorway, peering into another, and he’s freaking out - wailing, screaming, sobbing - </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh gods, oh noes, oh noes!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Skwisgaar takes control and grabs him, crushes him close even as he tries to fight his way back to whatever he saw, and then they’re sobbing against each other. The fire blazes around the two of them, as they fall into each other, knees buckling and hair curtaining their faces, and Nathan knows he can’t risk taking Pickles that close, but he creeps close enough, just to see. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He checks one door, then another, then another. It’s all the same, in each one - skeletons. Abigail, Rockso, their families, their friends - burned to dust, nothing more than flaming corpses on the floor. Everyone they’ve ever let into their blackened, brutal hearts, has been burned alive in the fire that ravages the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Flip the switch and the filth is cleaned</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shoves his way into the expansive, fully-furnished escape pod, and only then does he let himself drop to his knees, head bowing against Pickles’ chest as he bursts into tears, a low, mournful wail tearing its way through his chest, lost in the blackness of the ocean. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>When asked later down the line, none of them are sure what exactly happens next. Time skips and blinks, and then they’re in an escape pod, starting their long journey of drifting up towards the surface, staring out the window as they watch Mordhaus descend into the darkness of the sea. Nobody is speaking, and Skwisgaar dares to let his teary eyes snap to his remaining bandmates. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan has an unconscious Pickles crushed to his chest, his singed jean-clad knees tucked up against him where he sits on the floor in a corner, and the frontman has never looked so small and scared in the fifteen years that the blonde has known him. Tony, a figure from their past that Skwisgaar had never thought he’d see past an unflattering picture on Celebrity Smackdown, is curled up on the ground underneath a table, the place where his leg had been blown off already bandaged by their manager. Seth is trying to see if his phone can get service, holding it up to the ceiling. Charles sits in a chair, frame faintly trembling as he chain smokes cigars. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t bear to look at Toki. The brunette is sitting with his back to him, shaking shoulders hunched up as he quietly sobs into his hands. Skwisgaar wants to hold him, to comfort him, to tell him how </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry </span>
  </em>
  <span>he is, that he was just trying to protect him physically and emotionally this entire time, that everything he did was with the brunette's best interest in mind. He doesn't know what the right thing to have done was - he thought it was the only way he could ensure Toki's safety, while...maybe getting a little revenge of his own, at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All the lives that have been lost during the Metalocalypse will be restored,” Charles says quietly, and nobody has the strength to look at him. “That’s what the Prophecy says. They’re all going to come back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It should be more comforting, that their loved ones will come back to life. But the image of his mother, of Tyr, of Abigail, has branded itself to the backs of his eyelids. Even if they come back, he’ll never be able to unsee what they walked into. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Nathan’s voice is dripping with a quiet fury, as he holds their drummer closer to himself, “should we believe </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you fucking say.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hurt isn’t visible on Charles’ face, but Skwisgaar knows that it’s there regardless. He merely takes a hard hit from the cigar between his fingers, then says quietly, “It’s my job, to try and protect you--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Protect us?!” Nathan yells, making everyone in the room jump, “Everyone’s fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Pickles is fucking catatonic! And it’s because YOU didn’t tell us that you were keeping a fucking pscyhopath in our fucking house! What the actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Charles!”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been trying to prevent what is predicted to happen,” Charles says, “I didn’t--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and fuck your stupid fucking predictions. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> with this shit. When we get to the surface, me and Pickles are getting the hell away from--”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“If the Prophecy continues on its regular path, Pickles is going to die. That’s</span> <span>one of the </span><em><span>many things</span></em><span> I’ve been trying to prevent.” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Tony and Nathan’s head both snap over to their manager, and Toki’s shaking shoulders still. Seth glances over to the side, then looks back to his phone. Skwisgaar swallows down the lump in his throat, his usually steady hands violently trembling as he stares at his bare feet. The fire melted off his expensive shoes, the ones he had spent hours trying to pick out for what should’ve been the best night of his life. The ring box in the inside pocket of his suit jacket is the only thing completely preserved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan's voice is quiet, yet murderous, “What the fuck did you just say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think, it’s, ah,” he takes a hard hit from the cigar between his fingers, “time I tell you boys everything that’s been predicted. Once Pickles wakes up, that is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan’s bottom lip wobbles, like he’s going to burst into tears again. Everything is quiet again, until Tony mutters quietly, “I, um. I think I can wake him up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The frontman glares daggers at him, squeezing their drummer protectively, “Like hell I’m letting you near him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, really, man. I can--he used to faint all the fucking time, when he first started...the hard stuff,” Tony mutters, guilt and pain flashing across his face at whatever memory this brings up. “I figured out a way to...bring him out of it. Works every time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just kick him, huh. That’s what always worked for me when he’d black out,” Seth says easily, not looking up from his phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan looks wildly bitter, scowling violently as he visibly weighs his options. Finally, he gestures with a grunt and a head nod, for the bassist to come over. “If you do anything weird, I swear to god, my fist </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>go through your skull.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony kneels down next to him, tucking a piece of purple-black hair behind an ear, mumbling, “Okay, um. Put him on his back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan apprehensively does as told, laying the redhead down like he’s something precious, and Tony gently grabs his ankles and replants his feet on the floor with his legs bent. He puts one hand over Pickles’ heart, pressing down, the other going around to cradle the back of his neck, pinching the skin there gently. He holds this position for about six seconds, and just as Nathan’s face twists up like he’s about to accuse Tony for just using this as an excuse to touch his boyfriend, red eyelashes slowly flutter open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hnnwhhah…” Pickles mutters groggily, looking up into the bassist’s face, “Tony…?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The sleeper has awakened,” Tony grins tiredly, and before the redhead can do anything past knitting his eyebrows in a sleepy confusion, Nathan’s gathered him back up in his arms, crushing him close. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oooh, happy to see you too, babe,” Pickles’ sleepy voice is muffled by the frontman’s chest, arms moving to hug him back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, Pickles,” Nathan’s voice breaks with tears, “I was so worried about you. Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>do that to me again, holy fuck. I fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you too, dood,” Pickles cooes tiredly, dreamily, as if everything’s okay. “I was dreamin’ about you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has no idea, what happened to their house, to their families, and Skwisgaar envies his obliviousness. Tony looks away, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably as the two of them kiss and whisper sweet nothings to each other tenderly. Nathan and Pickles aren’t really ones for PDA, but then again, Nathan isn’t usually one for crying, either, and he’s done a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of that today. Skwisgaar glances over to Toki, the affection in front of them making him sick with want, and he knows the brunette doesn’t want him around right now, but he wants to hold him so badly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dood, wait,” Pickles puts a hand over Nathan’s mouth, which had been out in a pucker to continue kissing him. He looks around through tired eyes, and the events leading up to his passing out must be coming back to him. “Where...where the fuck are we? Whet happened…?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The frontman swallows visibly, and Skwisgaar thinks about the image of their drummer’s family, crushed and melted where they had been sleeping. Nathan must be thinking about it too, because he rubs a big hand against Pickles’ back, voice uncharacteristically soft, “Let’s go and talk.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whey?” Pickles asks, unable to supress a yawn, and he’s starting to look nervous. “I-I mean--? It was a nightmare, right? Mmmmuhh…” he can barely bring himself to eke out the name, “M-Magnus, he wasn’t really…?” Their drummer’s eyes trail over to Tony, and when he gets a good look at him, he gapes, “Dood, holy fuck! Where’s--? Where’s your fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>leg</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just...come on,” Nathan grumbles gently, holding him in his arms as he forces his sore body to stand. He starts walking them into one of the pod’s bedrooms, and Skwisgaar hears Pickles ask, “Oh my gahd, where’s Will?” before the door shuts behind them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the two of them reappear twenty minutes later, Pickles looks dizzy with sickness. His eyes are red-rimmed, face tear-stained, and he isn’t looking at Charles as he slumps down at the small meeting table. The rest of them are already seated - instead of their usual spots next to each other, Toki is sitting across from Skwisgaar, looking coldly at his own hands. Tony and Seth have shut themselves up in one of the other rooms, probably trying to keep their distance from whatever emotional outbreak is approaching (Seth had wanted to watch, but when Nathan raised a threatening fist at him he practically sprinted to the other room). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to have kept this from all of you,” Charles begins, as Nathan takes his seat next to their drummer, clamping their hands together. “There’s a lot you don’t know, and perhaps it would’ve been better of me, to have informed you. I thought I could handle it myself. I thought I could let the five of you enjoy whatever time you had left together, because if these things aren’t preventable, then at the very least, you got one good year in.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Whatever time you had left together’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>puts a terrible taste in Skwisgaar’s mouth. His hands fidget against his knees, desperate for his beloved guitar that’s now nothing but molten ash. When they’d been running through the rooms, he had to make a choice - the cassettes that he and Toki had made for each other, or his guitar. The two boxes of their entire romantic history, sit in one of the pod’s bedrooms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you boys, ah. Ready?” Charles asks, ashing his cigar almost nervously. “I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles and Nathan’s intertwined hands tense underneath the table, their drummer looking like he could fall back asleep at any second, and their frontman tense and breathing anxiously. Toki’s eyes flicker up to his own for just a second, before snapping away. The empty seat they left where Murderface would usually sits is untouched. Skwisgaar inhales deeply through his nose, steeling himself for whatever information is to come. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Nathan decides for them, as usual, raising the back of their drummer’s hand to his mouth, and planting a kiss there. The blonde gets a glance of the black band on his left finger, eyebrows shooting into his hairline in surprise. The frontman doesn’t seem to notice or care, as he growls out, “We’re ready.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles inhales, and he begins. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>his name is murder, did you not knooow<br/>(that's the galaktikon II song for this ch .. *super* excited to get to exitus )</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. the prophecy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>pls enjoy 10k words of bickering dialogue LMAO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Skwisgaar, I’s finallies gots the guts to ask to yous the most importants of questions,” Toki announces, hair flowing majestically in the breeze behind him as he stands tall and dapper at the front of the soirée room. Skwisgaar takes his outstretched hand, blue eyes sparkling and white shirt open in a revealing vee at the collar, as the brunette purrs suavely, “Wills you makes me the happiest guy in de entire woild, and marries me?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh Tokis, you ams so cools and sexies and I am so luckies to haves finallies lets myskelf loves you,” the blonde swoons, falling into his arms dramatically with a wrist over his forehead. “Not onlies wills I marries you, but I will gives to you all de solos forevors, and unlimiteds blows jobs untils de end of times!”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The crowd in front of them, full of their very much alive family and friends, explode into claps and cheers. Nathan wipes a tear away from his eyes as he smiles, “Wow. Toki is so fucking awesome. I can’t believe there was ever a time that we had you-know-who in the band, and not him. He’s like. So much better, especially at the guitar.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh yeeah, dood. What would we do without ‘im? Thank gahd we looked so hard for ‘im and gaht him back! He’s tohtally naht a burden with alla his sleep-screamin’ and shit! Right, Murderface?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Their bassist, completely normal and happy, sips on a tumbler of bourbon contentedly, “I agree completely, Picklesch. Toki isch the foundation of the band! I’d fucking kill myschelf and everyone in thisch room without him. But thankfully, I moscht definitely do not have a demon in my brain, scho I would never have such schelf-deschtructive thoughtsch.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Cheers to thet!”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The crowd is cheering, as the brunette dips Skwisgaar low and kisses him - the blonde shows off the brutal ring on his finger as he happily kisses back, and Toki is king. He soaks it all in, reveling in the chants of “Toki! Toki! Toki! To—“  </em>
</p>
<p>“—ki? Hellos? You ams okays in dere?” </p>
<p>Toki snaps out of his daydream, and the disappointment that hits him when he clicks back into reality is practically strangling. Skwisgaar is staring at him, looking sad and worried and terrified, and on one hand, the brunette wants to crush him close and sob into his chest, just like he did when they found the charred corpses of their friends and families. On the other, it hurts so bad just to look at him, because he feels gutted from the inside out, knowing what Skwisgaar had been keeping from him. </p>
<p>Everything is up in smoke for their band, figuratively and literally. Sitting at the small meeting table of the escape pod, with Skwisgaar’s blue eyes flashing longingly at him, with Nathan nervously tracing his black-painted nails over the ominously glowing wound on a very exhausted-looking Pickles’ wrist, with Charles looking uneasy and lost where he puffs anxiously on his cigar...Toki feels, as usual, like he has no idea what the fuck is going on. </p>
<p>He had never understood how his bandmates never picked up on himself and Skwisgaar sneaking around for all those years, but apparently, he’s just as unobservant as the rest of them. Murderface being possessed by Salacia - he should’ve followed his instincts, and expressed his concerns for the bassist the minute he touched his arm last night and got that terrible, sinking feeling in his stomach. And with Skwisgaar - if he really thinks about it, he can remember nights where he'd wake up in a terror, and afterwards, the blonde would get a stormy look in his eye and disappear down the hall, coming back a couple hours later in a strange headspace that Toki merely wrote off as one of his crabby diva moods. </p>
<p>Said blonde is still gazing at him across the table, fingers itching to reach across for his hand, and Toki doesn’t know if he’d be strong enough to take it. Skwisgaar swallows, and murmurs to him, “Maybes we shoulds talk forst, before we gets into whatevor Charlie gots to says…” </p>
<p>The idea of talking about this absolutely terrifies him, because he doesn’t <em> want </em> to think about his boyfriend looming over Magnus, yanking on the chain around his neck just like the older man had done to himself. Before he can get a chance to shake his head, Nathan is growling out, holding tight to Pickles’ hand, “No. We need to know about this Prophecy shit <em> now </em>.”  </p>
<p>The brunette knows they’re all thinking about the same thing - their manager had told them, that this Prophecy predicts their drummer is going to die, and the mere idea of losing him sends a fearful tremor running up Toki’s spine. If there’s anything they can do to prevent that, they need to know as soon as possible, and the brunette nods his head somberly, “Yeah, Charlie. Tells it to us, we gots to knows.”  </p>
<p>“I, ah. I’m trying to...figure out, where the best place to start would be,” Charles says, swallowing as he ashes his cigar into a little plastic bowl. </p>
<p>“Hm, well, I could give you a few pointers,” Pickles says bitterly, rubbing at his red-rimmed tired eyes before letting out a yawn. He still looks so exhausted, even after sleeping through the entirety of their house burning down, and it’s...concerning, to say the least. “You could tahk about keepin’ a fuckin’ crazy person in our basement without tellin’ us. Or you could tell us about a demon we thaht was fuckin’ <em>gone </em>bein’ in Murderface’s head. Or hey! You could jest <em>get</em> <em>ahn with it, </em>and tell us about whatever the fuck we’re s’posed to be doin’ in this fucked up ancient Praphecy, thet we already thaht we fulfilled!” </p>
<p>“What, ah. What made you think you’d already fulfilled it?” Charles blinks, raising an eyebrow. “Ishnifus told you that the five of you were intended to save the world. In no offense to any of you whatsoever, I don’t think that sitting around and...cuddling with each other, constitutes world-saving.” </p>
<p>“Euuhh, I donst knows, maybes because we blows up dat metal-faced guys and den we nevor hears about dis shits agains?” Skwisgaar snaps, crossing his arms. “Whats if we was savingk de world from <em> hims </em>, huhs?” </p>
<p>“And the fact that you, ah…’blew up’ a guy, didn’t strike you as strange?”</p>
<p>“Noes, we does weird shits like dat all de times.” </p>
<p>“You...blow people up all the time?” </p>
<p>“You knows what I means! People ams always dyingks in weird ways at our consorts!” </p>
<p>“Alright, fair enough. Even still. What did you think happened to, ehm, Salacia?” </p>
<p>“We gaht ‘im outta Toki’s mind, and we thaht thet like...killed ‘im, er whatever?” Pickles scratches his goatee with his right hand pensively, then snaps back into anger. “Wh--? Whey the fuck does it <em> maetter </em> what we think? Apparently, we’re wrahng, because <em> you </em> were keepin’ information!” </p>
<p>“Yeeuh, how was we supposeds to be knowingk dis ams still goink on? We didn’st--” </p>
<p>“Oh, don’t act like you’re on <em> our </em> side. You’re telling us you didn’t know too?” Nathan snaps at the blonde, that feeling of hurt betrayal that they’ve all been uncomfortably familiar with in the past twenty-four hours evident in his voice. “I mean, it’s not like <em> you </em>aren’t perfectly fine with keeping stuff from the band, so. Kind of hypo...hypo, uhhh--”</p>
<p>Pickles squeezes his hand, whispering encouragingly, “Hypocritical.” </p>
<p>“--Hypocritical, of you.” The two of them high-five with their free hands. </p>
<p>Skwisgaar’s eyes narrow. “I kepts <em> dat </em> secrets fors a good reasons. But I didnst know anythingk about dis othor shits, he apparantallies ams veries choosies with whats he tells to mes!” </p>
<p>“Yeah? And why should we believe you? We--”</p>
<p>“Alrights, shuts de fucks up!” Toki slams a hand down on the table, causing everyone - even Charles - to jump. “What does it matter, who kepts what? We <em> all </em> ams keepins shit from each others! If anybodies gets to be mads, it ams <em> mes </em> , and trust me, I <em> ams </em>. But he ams tryins to tells it to us nows, so just lets him fuckins talk!” </p>
<p>The band falls back into silence, and for once, the brunette is pretty sure that his bandmates agree with him. He hates when they all argue, and he really doesn’t have the patience to watch things crash and burn more than they already have tonight. Charles says quietly, “I apologize, for keeping information. I understand why you feel deceived. But you have to understand, that I’m the last person who would ever betray you. Everything I’ve done, is to try and protect you five. I came back from my Church duties, to try and sort this all out for you. Again, I’ve...failed. And I apologize for that too.”</p>
<p>“I just--I don’t understand why you think withholding shit is always the solution. You faked your death, and you didn’t tell us about it, and we ran ourselves <em> literally </em> into the ground. And now you’ve been keeping all of this…and we’re a fucking mess, again,” Nathan scrubs at at his eyes. “So...just <em> tell us </em>. We can, uh. Handle it. Probably.”  </p>
<p>“Alright,” Charles steels himself, inhaling deeply. “Fine. Here I go. Right now. Here I...ah. Go. Right...now.” </p>
<p>They all look at him expectantly, but silence envelops them again. Pickles drums his free hand against his knee, and his voice drops into something more confused than angry, “Dood. Whet...whet are you so scared of?” </p>
<p>“There’s a lot...that you don’t know. And I think it’s going to come as something of a shock,” Charles says softly. “But I’m clearly unable to shield you from this anymore. You guys were told, when we visited the Church of the Black Klok, everything that was going to happen up until Toki’s kidnapping. Now, I’m about to tell you what comes next.” </p>
<p>The four of them look between each other uneasily, and somehow, Toki feels like they’re still not ready for this. Even still, nobody interrupts, for once, as Charles begins. </p>
<p>“The five of you, are going to save the world. That’s the entire point of this Prophecy - you are the lights that will shepherd us out of the darkness. The problem is, getting from point A to point B. The things you’ll have to do, in order to save everyone, and the things you’ll experience after, will change everything about the courses of your lives. </p>
<p>The first half of the Prophecy is already complete. The Metalocalypse began with the death of a religious figure at the hands of the Half Man - and the destruction of the album, the return of Magnus, the breaking up of the band - that was all predicted. Some things aren’t directly stated, because they’re merely events that lead into something - while you may have believed that Toki’s kidnapping and possession was the end to all of this, those events were merely stepping stones to spur things on. </p>
<p>But that’s all over, now, and we’re in the Second Phase. Since we’ve been underwater, you haven’t been exposed to the...conditions, that things are currently in. The Doomstar is getting closer to the planet, and things have been kind of...spiraling. Sea levels rising, natural disasters, volcanic eruptions, wildfires...people have been preparing for the endtimes. I’ve heard it’s, ehm. Anarchy, up there. Looting, riots, collapsing of governments. Not an, ah, pretty scene.” </p>
<p>Their manager has the decency to look moderately ashamed, as he sighs, “Murderface was right, when he said I wanted those disclosure forms to keep tonight’s guests from exposing any information. I wanted to be the one to tell you, when the time was right.” </p>
<p>Even if Charles had...good intentions, it still stings to know that their bassist’s accusations of their manager were actually correct. Toki can see it on Nathan’s face especially - he’d stuck up for him back there, when Murderface had implied he was keeping secrets. He said that Charles was their <em> pal, </em> that he would never keep <em> anything </em>from them. Clearly the rest of Dethklok feel the same pain of deception - Toki’s face falls even further as he stares down at his clenched fists in his lap. Skwisgaar is trying not to look affected, but the scowl that fights its way to his face shows otherwise. Pickles mutters bitterly, “And when were you plannin’ on tellin’ us?” </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Charles admits. “The five of you wanted your carefree life back, so I was just trying to give it to you as long as possible, while I was trying to sort things out myself.” </p>
<p>“Great. And now we’re walking into the apocalypse with no house, and no protection,” Nathan huffs, running a hand through his dark hair stressfully. He glares at their manager, “Thanks for the fucking heads up, man.” </p>
<p>“I did take...precautions, to set up an emergency land base in light of an underwater attack. So, we’ll head there to get ourselves a means of transportation, when we reach the--”</p>
<p>Pickles’ eyes slide closed, a tiny snore coming out of his mouth, and then his head suddenly slams against the table as he falls asleep. Nathan nearly jumps ten feet in the air as his forehead smacks hard against the wood, and he yells, “Fuck! Pickles!” </p>
<p>Toki gasps, ice sliding into his veins, and Skwisgaar’s hand flutters up over his mouth. Nathan has his hands in his hair, about to go spiraling into a panic, and he moves fast before their drummer can fall back into whatever deep sleep had taken him last time. He grabs him by the shoulders, smacking him across the face, and he practically sags in relief with Pickles’ eyes pop back open. He looks confused and disoriented as his eyelashes flutter, and he snaps sleepily, “Dood, whet the fuck! Why’d you hit me?” </p>
<p>“You fucking passed out again, I-I was just--I was just trying to wake you up,” Nathan breathes raggedly, hands on either side of Pickles’ head as he shoves their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to get control of the panic bubbling up in his chest. To Toki, it always feels like he’s watching his parents kiss or something (something he never saw in his own household, so he can’t be sure), when the two of them are affectionate. Usually, they’re pretty private about their relationship, but clearly neither care who sees them at this point. “You are <em> not </em> falling back asleep like that, Pickles.” </p>
<p>“I-I’m sahrry,” Pickles whispers against his mouth. “Fuck. I dunno why I’m so tired.” </p>
<p>Nathan’s face twists up further into a despaired scowl, and he barks out, “Charles. Keep going.” </p>
<p>“Right,” Charles eyes their drummer worriedly, then clears his throat. “The, ah, traitor amongst the band was prophesied as the first step of the Second Phase, and after everything that happened with Toki’s possession, I assumed that to have been him. However, he was never able to be swayed, so I believe he was being used as Salacia’s spy. Everything the demon witnessed through Toki’s eyes, he used to his advantage. But his heart was too strong to be darkened - I believe his, ah, love for Skwisgaar was what kept him from giving in entirely.”</p>
<p>Toki’s eyelashes flutter, swallowing audibly as they all flash back to the day he drank the poison - their rhythm guitarist had been ready to do the same thing Murderface did, and burn them all alive in the Dethbus. The gasoline had been poured, the match was in his hand - but Skwisgaar managed to drag him back to some semblance of cognizance, through finally telling him he was in love with him. </p>
<p>“With Murderface, though. His heart is already plagued with feelings of being the, ah. ‘Fifth wheel.’ He’s always thought he’s the most expendable. It was hard, for Salacia to try and convince Toki that he wasn’t really in love with Skwisgaar. But for him to take the love Murderface already has struggled most of life with, and heighten it? He used Murderface’s feelings for Pickles to poison his mind further. The minute that he was rejected, I think he gave himself over completely.” </p>
<p>“Okey, whet the fuck,” Pickles drops his head into his hands, as Nathan tenses violently at the mention of the most brutal of the several betrayals he’s experienced tonight. “Am I the only one who had no fuckin’ idea about this?” </p>
<p>“Ja, I knew, since like, the day I mets him,” Skwisgaar says, and Toki adds a quiet, “He dids always wanna snuggles with you when we’d be somewhere reallies cold....” </p>
<p>The frontman’s left eye twitches, face flushing with anger, “So. Murderface...he was being serious, when he said he’s, uh. In love with my fucking boyfriend, or whatever.” </p>
<p>“Yes, Nathan. I believe so.” Apparently, there was <em> more </em> to their band that Toki hadn’t noticed - everyone was aware of the little longing comments and stolen looks that their bassist would flash at the redhead, but nobody really thought it ran deeper than a little confused, repressed crush. Toki thinks about the conversation they had the night prior in the hallway, when Murderface had stammered, “ <em> yeah, thisch girl, who’sch definitely not Picklesch… </em>” </p>
<p>“I talks to him last night - he seemed real messed up about dis ‘goil’ who he saids he’s loved for twenty years,” Toki says, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together. “He--” </p>
<p>Toki quickly cuts himself off, looking at Nathan’s bitter face, as he remembers <em> another </em> important piece of information Murderface had slipped up on - <em> “He—she kissched me a long time ago…” </em> He knows they’re not supposed to be keeping things from each other, but he <em> knows </em> their frontman isn’t in a place where he’d be able to handle hearing <em> that </em> right now. </p>
<p>“Twenty <em> years </em>? What the actual fuck?” he growls in frustration, teeth digging into his own bottom lip. “What a self-absorbed asshole! What does he think is gonna happen, Pickles leaves me for him? How could he be fine with that? He knows that I...” </p>
<p>“It amnst his faults,” Toki pipes up quietly, feeling a little nervous as Nathan glares intensely at him. “When dat demons ams in your brains...it takes de things you feels, and it fucks dem all ups. If he never tolds Pickle before dis, he probablies woulds have left it alone, if it amnst for dat.”</p>
<p>“Why would he feel that way in the first place?” Nathan snarls bitterly. “This whole time, he’s been wanting to fuck Pickles, and he just palled around with me like he didn’t—”</p>
<p>“Nate’n, in his defense, I think he, ehm. Wanted me, lahng before you came into the picture,” Pickles mutters, cheeks blazing as he pinches his temples. </p>
<p>“So the fuck what! If you don’t want him, then you don’t want him! He can’t just try and-and take you from me!”</p>
<p>The redhead levels him with a look through tired eyes, “Dood. You know I’m naht leavin’ you fer any-fuckin’-bahdy. Like—“</p>
<p>“I <em> know </em>, but the fact that he even thinks you would—and that he would be okay with just—“ he cuts himself off with a growl, looking absolutely sick with jealousy and hurt. He pushes his dark hair out of his eyes, huffing in frustration, “Just--whatever. It’s fine. I’m fine.” </p>
<p>Pickles raises a concerned eyebrow, “<em> Are you </em>fine?” </p>
<p>“Yes! I’m fucking fine!”</p>
<p>Charles clears his throat again, “There is more to all of this that meets the eye, if you’ll just, ah. Let me finish.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, fuck, I’d love to fucking hear it,” Nathan snaps, missing the way that Pickles bounces his leg uneasily. “Keep going.” </p>
<p>“Well. I know we have kind of, ah. An unspoken rule not to talk about the band’s old rhythm guitarist, but he does have a role in all of this. Toki, Pickles. Are you two going to be...alright, if we start discussing Magnus? I wouldn’t bring it up if it weren’t...as relevant, as it unfortunately is.” </p>
<p>God, Toki <em> hates </em>hearing his name - it always sends him slamming back to the cold floors of the basement, and brings a litany of awful memories playing on a film reel in front of his eyes. He can feel Skwisgaar looking at him worriedly, wanting to offer him comfort but unsure if he has the right to in this moment. Toki swallows it down, tries to be brave - if he can’t be strong for himself, then at the very least, he can be strong for Pickles. He mumbles, “I thinks at dis point, nothins ams worse den whats you alreadies done. Amnst like we gots a choice, anysways.” </p>
<p>Pickles snaps in a nervous agreement, “Jest like we didn’t have a choice to have ‘im in our fuckin’ basement.” </p>
<p>Skwisgaar and Charles exchange a look, and their manager sighs as he pushes on, “Murderface’s role as the traitor has sped everything up significantly, as did the release of Magnus. One of the reasons I was trying to keep him locked up, was because I knew if I had him contained, things couldn’t continue without him being free. And the other reason, was because he knows information that could have potentially stopped this all from being set into motion, if I could’ve obtained it.</p>
<p>I located him about five months after Toki came back to life. I suspect that he committed suicide, but was brought back in the same fashion as Toki was. He was the same way Toki and Murderface have been, with the, ah. Bleeding eyes, memory loss, and uncontrollable anger. I couldn’t kill him, as he’s being kept alive by Salacia. So, I figured I’d try and get some information out of him. Clearly, if he took Toki to the Tribunal when he died, then he knows their location. If I could’ve located Salacia, I could have sent you out to defeat him in a surprise attack, before things spiraled out of control.”</p>
<p>“And how long did <em> you </em> know about dis, Skwisgaar?” Pickles asks, not looking at the blonde, instead focusing his gaze on Toki - the brunette’s eyes are burning with unshed tears, staring down into his own lap intensely. </p>
<p>“I, ehhm. Not as long as Charlies. Maybes two months,” Skwisgaar mutters, fingers twitching against his own kneecaps fitfully, looking lost without his guitar to nervously fret on. </p>
<p>“Wowee,” Toki whispers bitterly, shaking his head as his hands come up over his face. “<em> Wowee </em>. Two months.” </p>
<p>The blonde gets this little guilty pout on his face, the need to defend himself clearly rising as he says, “Toki, you hears him. He can’ts kills him, so we was just tryink to—“ </p>
<p>“Yeah, we know <em> why </em>you kept him down there. But who the fuck gave you two the right to think that you didn’t have to tell us about it?” </p>
<p>“Pickles and Toki both can’t hear about him without spiraling. You boys were making progress in therapy, and I didn’t want to disrupt that. That’s why I consulted with Skwisgaar, and asked him what would be best. We thought we could handle it ourselves.” </p>
<p>“Secret keepin’ ain’t fuckin’ metal,” Pickles snaps, and he points a finger at the blonde, “And I told you thet, back when you told me about yer histery with Toki. If we all fucked up the first Golden Rule - ‘cause clearly we’re all, y’know, fuckin’ sahmbahdy at this table - den you could’ve at least kept up with the second one.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, and why’d you tell Skwisgaar, and not <em> me </em> ?” Nathan growls angrily at Charles. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be in charge, and <em> my </em>boyfriend is all fragile about this shit too! No offense, Pickles.” </p>
<p>“Nahn taken. I’m a fuckin’ mess, and I can embrace thet.” </p>
<p>“See? So I should’ve known too! And you don’t even—“ </p>
<p>“Looks,” Skwisgaar hisses, blonde hair swinging as he sits up straighter in his chair, suddenly looking tall and intimidating and angry. “Charlie came to mes because I was de one whats made all de big decisions about Toki’s wellsbeings when he amnst able to himself. I takes care of hims through de comas, I was de ones to keeps de last shred of his mind dere during the amnesias. He asks me what’s best dis time, I tells him what’s best. And what was best for hims, was for us to tries and lets him heal while we takes cares of it. It ams my jobs, to takes care of it, so I does what I needs to does.” </p>
<p>Toki swallows down the lump in his throat, because while he’s hurt by the blonde keeping this from him, he <em> does </em>trust Skwisgaar with his life, even more so than he trusts himself with it. He’s only heard briefly, about how Skwisgaar was when he was in his coma - the blonde doesn’t like to talk about it, but Toki can remember the clammy hand constantly shaking around his own, and the Swedish-sung love songs strummed out at his bedside. </p>
<p>When he had amnesia, he thought of Skwisgaar as his guardian angel, because he was always standing right behind him to catch him when he’d fall into the demon-crazed insanity of his own mind. Charles was right, when he said the blonde was what would bring him back from the brink every time. Maybe he <em> did </em>think that keeping this was best for him. But why would he have to chain him up? What could he have possibly gained from doing the same thing to Magnus that the older man had done to Toki? </p>
<p>“Is not like it was easies, for me to keeps dat from hims,” Skwisgaar says quietly, and Toki’s heart skips a beat as his eyelashes flutter delicately. “All I’s wanteds, since the day he was taken, was for hims to be okays.” </p>
<p>Finally, the two of them make eye contact. Toki still feels hurt and upset, but the longing between them is palpable. After all the tragedies of the day, he really doesn’t want their relationship to be another one, and when Skwisgaar looks at him meaningfully through his soft blue eyes, Toki looks right back, hoping his eyes portray everything that he is too apprehensive to say. </p>
<p>“Unfortunately, our efforts were pointless, in the end. We couldn’t get the information from Magnus, because Salacia turned his memories off. So, the Prophecy continues on its regular path. The next step is to locate Murderface, and to expel the demon from his mind. I believe he’s headed to the Arctic Ocean, where he’ll assemble his army of Revengencers with Magnus, and he’ll be waiting for you there.”</p>
<p>Oh no. Oh no no no. Toki can feel his entire body tense up, and the memory reel starts back up as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push it out. The best thing about having amnesia was being able to <em> forget </em> the things that Magnus put him through - and the topic of the Revengencers brings up things that he would <em> love </em>to have stayed forgotten. He ekes out, “W-Whats you says? Revengencers? Dey ams...still a thing?” his pale blue eyes pop open to dart around, and he tugs at the ends of his hair nervously. “We gots to like, sees dem?” </p>
<p>“Yes, ah. For bringing you back to life, Magnus is indebted to Salacia. He’s kept him alive, I believe, for the purpose of gathering and creating for Revengencers for him to use in battle.” </p>
<p>“Ohs,” the brunette’s voice cracks. “Ohs. Okays. Dat ams…” he swallows audibly, “<em> Ohs </em>.”</p>
<p>Skwisgaar needs to stop looking at him - he can’t <em> know </em>, the things that are going through Toki’s mind right now. He puts his hands over his face, wanting to disappear from the room entirely, and just before the blonde can ask what his problem is, Pickles is stammering, “O-Okey, wait, backup. Expel the demon? So, whet? We gahtta give ‘im the poison like we did to Toki, ‘n he’ll come back ‘n be normal?” </p>
<p>“The Prophecy insinuates that the traitor must be drowned, in order for things to properly move forward. You’re going to have to find him, tie him up, and--”</p>
<p>“Drown ‘im?” Pickles repeats, instantly shaking his head, “Dood, but…? You gave Toki poison that had a chance of bringing him back. Wouldn’t drowning Murderface just…?” He can’t seem to bring himself to ask the question that’s suddenly plaguing all of their minds - are they going to have to kill their bassist? Murderface might be a dick, and it might be the hardest to say to him out of everyone, but he’s their family, and they <em> love him </em>. </p>
<p>“It’s ah, a bit more complicated than that. While the Doomstar is the most deadly thing to ever enter our atmosphere, the five of you are able to draw so much power from it, that it gives you the power of gods. As it gets closer, this power will only increase - for example, when the star hit its apex in the sky, you were given enough power to, ah, ‘explode’ the Masked Metal Assassin. By the time you reach him, Murderface will be too strong to be killed permanently. He will die, but he should come back completely purged.”</p>
<p>“So what ams de point of all of dis? Why woulds he does dis to Moidaface, if he knows we ams just goingk to gets him outs of his heads anyways?” Skwisgaar asks nervously, and the idea of forcing Murderface to choke on water until he dies makes Toki feel dizzy with sickness. Next to him, Pickles is practically bouncing with nerves - his tired eyes are flickering anxiously, as he pats fast drum cadences on his thigh with his free hand. </p>
<p>“Salacia’s main goal is simple - the destruction of the entire galaxy. He knows he needs the five of you alive, together, and at maximum power in order to harness your power and make the Doomstar collide with the Earth. The Falconback Project is part of his plan to bring on the Doomstar collision - he’s planning on using you to magnetize gravity, and bring an end to everything on this planet. Afterwards, he would continue to use your power to wipe everything in the galaxy out. </p>
<p>His possession of Murderface is merely to lure you out, and set things in motion. He’ll do whatever he can, to turn you against each other along the way, to switch to his side and go gently without a fight. He knows you are prophesied to win, and he’ll do anything he can to change that. He’ll spread around the band like a disease, trying to twist your minds to get you on his side - he’s already invaded Toki, and Murderface. And, ah…” </p>
<p>Charles’ eyes bounce down to the wound on the soft meat of Pickles’ inner wrist, at the same time as Nathan’s. The frontman visibly gulps, but doesn’t mention it - maybe, because he can’t bring himself to entertain the possibility, and Toki can’t blame him. The mere idea of his boyfriend experiencing what he did when he had the demon in his brain terrifies him - imagining blood running down those chiseled cheeks, blonde hair in his feral eyes...it’s not something he’s willing to accept. </p>
<p>“He <em> amnst </em> gettins into Skwisgaar’s head,” Toki snaps, breaking his silence before either of them can bring up their concerns about Pickles. “How does we stops him, before dat happens?” </p>
<p>“According to the Prophecy, you will fulfill your destinies, you will unlock your powers, and you will battle against Salacia and the Revengencers in a battle so great that it nearly tears the fabric of the entire Universe apart, and Salacia will be defeated.</p>
<p>You’ll only be able to defeat the demon when you are all united, and at maximum strength. Your powers have already been activated, with the rebirth of the Doomstar, but you need to fulfill your own paths to unlock them. And, ah. I’m sure the four of you have realized in your romantic endeavors, that you are each other’s destinies. You won’t be able to reach your full potential, and complete the Prophecy, until each couple has completed their journey together. </p>
<p>Your relationships are just as much fate as everything else with this band has been. The earthly word for it is, ah, ‘soulmates,’ but for you, it’s so much more than that. Your hearts and souls are directly linked to each other’s, perfectly in sync. And when channeled, it brings out something more powerful than the entirety of the Doomstar. With the right motivation, you’re essentially two pairs of deadly weapons. Murderface thinks he’s the weakest link - but he has that power inside of him on his own. He doesn’t need a partner to activate it. </p>
<p>Skwisgaar and Toki - you’re referred to as Life and Death, Thunder and Lightning, Body and Mind. Pickles and Nathan - the two of you are the Heart and its Beat, the Wind and the Rain. I believe from the first minute you each met your other half, you all knew that you were incomplete without the other. I think, ah. Your time apart, and your lives before meeting, are proof enough that you all cannot function apart, because you’re destined to be whole.” </p>
<p>Pickles sniffles, wiping his nose off on one of his wristbands, and even Nathan’s eyes are clouded with emotion. Toki felt his own tears beading up the minute that Charles first said they were each other’s destinies - because he’s <em> always </em>known that he and Skwisgaar are soulmates, from the very first moment he shoved open the doors to the practice space where his audition was held. When he looks across the table, Skwisgaar is fanning himself off with a hand, nose and cheeks red as tears threaten to spill - and for the first time all night, Toki can’t help the wobbly smile that fights its way to his face.  </p>
<p>“Things have to happen a certain way, in order for things to work out the way they’re supposed to. Each member of the band, will have to complete what they’re fated to do in order to unlock your power, and end the Metalocalypse. Murderface is fated to do one final selfless act - but what this is, isn’t explicitly stated. Toki and Skwisgaar, the two of you will play the final song that will assist in saving the world. Your music is the basis of your love, the thing that brought you together, and it’s where the two of you are the strongest. You will get one final duet - after a lifetime of competing with each other, you will come together for this, as you are destined to. </p>
<p>Nathan and Pickles. The advancing of your relationship is what the Church has used as marking points, to try and determine how close we are to the end.mI believe the entire purpose of Salacia looking through Toki’s eyes, was to try and figure out how quickly your relationship was advancing. I suspect he knew invading his mind would bring the two of you together. Turns out, it was what was needed to tip you over into romantic territory. The Prophecy explicitly states that when the Doomstar will align with both the sun and the moon, and the stars orbiting around it will freeze, and in that moment, the two of you will complete your personal destiny, and get married. It’s been prophesied in the most ancient runes - your wedding needs to happen, in order to mark the beginning of the final battle.” </p>
<p>“Holy shit,” Pickles breathes, dreads flying as he whips his head over to look at Nathan. The frontman cannot be described in any other word than <em> shaken </em>. </p>
<p>“So...what if we’re, um. Already engaged,” Nathan mutters, and Pickles swallows as they raise their connected hands, twisting their wrists so the other can see the black band on his ring finger. Toki can’t help the shocked <em>oh wowee </em>that escapes him<em>, </em>because apparently he and Skwisgaar weren’t the only couple in the band that had marriage on their minds. “Where does that, like. Put us, on the timeline.” </p>
<p>“We’re definitely, ah. Approaching the end,” Charles sighs, trying to remain composed as he adjusts his glasses. His eyes are sad - much too sad for Nathan’s liking, and it makes him bristle uneasily - as he says quietly, “I’d like to say congratulations, but I’m not sure if it’s in, ehm. Poor taste.” </p>
<p>“So, whats was you so afraids to tells us?” Skwisgaar asks. “Me and Toki plays a song, Moidaface ams nice for once, Pickle and Nathans get marrieds, and den we wins dis big fights and our families come backs. Dis doesn’t sounds, like. Imposskiblies.” </p>
<p>“It’s what, ah. Comes after, that worries me. Salacia will be defeated, and the world will be saved. But...” </p>
<p>He trails off. Pickles, Nathan, Toki, and Skwisgaar all look between each other uneasily. The blonde is the one to ask, fingers tapping against his knees uneasily, “But whats?”</p>
<p>“Do you boys believe in, ah. Past lives?” Charles asks quietly, and Toki’s eyebrows knit as a short silence envelops them again. “You’ve done this all, before. Since the beginning of time, actually. The five of you were born from the Doomstar itself - and it gives you the power of gods, because in your original lives, you <em> were </em> gods. You didn’t fulfill your paths, and you refused the first battle with Salacia. He captured you, and used your power to take out a large portion of the Galaxy. In order to stop him, you had to give up your immortal powers, releasing them back to the Doomstar. </p>
<p>You were reborn as mortals, and have been stuck in an, ah. Time loop, ever since. In each life, the Doomstar is reborn, and temporarily gives you that power back. You’ve fought Salacia, and always lost for some reason - not fulfilling your destinies, ending up with the wrong person, choosing not to try and complete the Prophecy. This incarnation that you’re in now - you have been prophesied to be the chosen ones. The ones who will finally defeat Salacia.”</p>
<p>“Pfft. Charlie. You ams soundingk crazies now,” Skwisgaar raises an eyebrow at him. “I knows I <em> says </em>I ams a god, but dis ams kinds of ridiculous.” </p>
<p>Charles ignores him, as he looks at the frontman cautiously, “Nathan. Be calm, alright?” </p>
<p>His eyes narrow, “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be calm. I’m <em> always </em>calm.” </p>
<p>Memories of their frontman punching all things that he doesn’t understand flash in front of everyone's eyes. He huffs, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes, adding, “Okay, maybe not always. Maybe, like. 60% of the time.” </p>
<p>“In your original lives, Pickles and Murderface started out together. That’s why they still have this, ah. Star-crossed connection with each other. But then Pickles discovered <em> you </em>were his true soulmate, and he left Murderface, for you, and he...did not take it well. In this life, it’s slightly similar - the two of them started out with just each other, and now history seems to be repeating itself. I’m afraid the three of you are stuck in a love triangle that’s as old as the Universe.” </p>
<p>Toki has a hand over his mouth, and Skwisgaar almost looks entertained by all this spicy drama. The brunette isn't sure if he’s believing all this “past lives” stuff - it just seems so farfetched, so absurd, even by Toki’s rainbow-vomit-fantasies standards. But everything that Charles has said so far has been eerily accurate, so it raises the question - could this all be <em> true </em>? </p>
<p>Pickles is sitting up stiffly, this half-horrified half-baffled blush on his face as he stares at Charles in shock. It always takes Nathan an extra minute or two to get the gears in his brain turning, and absorb whatever information he’s being told. He finally blinks, thinly-veiled rage pouring over his features like lava, and Pickles blanches as the frontman growls, “I’m being calm. Totally...totally calm. Totally calm. Uh. When you say, um. ‘Star-crossed.’ And when you say,” his voice is absolute <em> growl </em> , “‘Pickles and Murderface started out together…’ in the same sentence as ‘history repeating itself.’ What, uh. What the <em> fuck </em>. Is that supposed to mean.” </p>
<p>“The two of you can discuss that later. Alright? The important thing to remember, is that <em> you two </em>are soulmates. In all of your lives, you’ve never once not chosen each other,” Charles tries to say placatingly, and Nathan’s shoulders are heaving as he tries to get control of himself. “I’m telling you this for...for a reason. This next part, is what I was, ah. Trying to keep from you.” </p>
<p>All of their attention snaps up to Charles, Nathan’s tantrum put on hold. That’ll be fun for Pickles to deal with later, but for now, they’d all really like to know what’s put their usually unflappable manager so on edge. </p>
<p>“The reason that there’s no evidence of your battles with Salacia, besides what the Church has held onto. Every time you’ve been defeated, the world resets itself. The Doomstar implodes until its next rebirth, Salacia goes back into hiding until your next fight, everyone’s memories are wiped of the events that took place, and you are eventually reborn into your next lives.</p>
<p>Since you are going to win, this is your last incarnation. Once you have done everything that you’ve needed to do - completed your paths with each other, defeated the demon you’ve spent lifetimes trying to beat - you will live out the rest of your lives as normal mortals, and you will die whenever your time comes. However. Salacia’s death will trigger another worldwide memory loss, similar to what he’s done to Toki and Magnus, but different, because it will be more...selective.” </p>
<p>Nathan swallows, “More selective?” </p>
<p>“I don’t want it to be true. I don’t want it to happen. The fans are so crazed, the economy depends so much on you - the world cannot function, if the band is still in existence. The five of you, and the concept of Dethklok, will be wiped from everyone’s memories. Including my own,” Charles says softly, and a shocked silence falls over the room. “To ensure that the band can never exist again...your minds will be wiped of their ability to play any musical instruments. As well as...well, you are no exception to the rule. You will not remember each other - your time being in the band, your relationships will one another. You’ll likely be scattered across the world, and thrown into whatever lives you would have led if Dethklok had never come to be.”</p>
<p>The information sets in, very slowly. Toki stares straight ahead, straight at Skwisgaar’s wide blue eyes, and he’s pretty sure he might finally be dead for real this time, because his heart feels like it’s stopped in his chest. </p>
<p>Toki had always thought that there was nothing worse than not knowing who the people he loved are. Knowing he had this whole death metal family who wanted him back, and he just couldn’t grasp what they meant to him - having this beautiful blonde guitar god desperate to be with him, and all these bandmates who were falling apart over his memory of them being gone...going through it all was the actual definition of brutal. But he’d come to realize, that the process and act of forgetting them all, was the worst thing to ever happen to him. Worse than everything he’d been through in his childhood, worse than the tortures that Magnus put him through. </p>
<p>Forgetting Skwisgaar’s face, the smell of his golden hair, his real laugh that he only ever lets Toki hear, the way it felt to be played so gracefully just like his Explorer...forgetting that, and knowing he was forgetting it, was the hardest part of it all. It was terrifying, and heartbreaking, and he’d spend so many nights sobbing as he tried to remember the sound of the Swede’s voice or the shade of blue that his eyes are. When he forgot Skwisgaar completely, that’s when he just kind of shut off - he had nothing left to keep him going, once they all were gone. </p>
<p>And now, Charles is telling him that in order to save Murderface, to save the <em> world, </em> to get Abigail and Rockso and everyone they love back, he’s going to have to go through that again. He’s going to have to live the rest of his life without his brothers, without <em> his soulmate </em> - without ever even knowing he <em> had </em>this love at all, and he knows from firsthand experience how empty and worthless having to live without Skwisgaar Skwigelf was. He feels the tears rise to his eyes, misery wrapping around him and squeezing like a vice, and he can’t bear to look at any of them, so he drops his head into his hands and mourns. </p>
<p>“Heys! Noes! Don’ts be cryingk, Tokis. It ams all okays, because dis ams <em> bullshits </em> ,” Skwisgaar’s voice thunders from the other side of the table, chair scraping against the floor as he stands up. “I means, Charlie, yous supposed to be a smart guys, and you <em> knows </em>dat dis doesn’t make any fuckingk sense! You goes on about all dis shits that we ams soulmates, and now you says we haves to be regular jackoffs without each othors?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Skwisgaar. This is why I didn’t want to tell you until I absolutely had to. But I have the journals of your past lives in the Church archives, and I can <em> prove </em>to you that this is in fact the way things are destined to be. I’m sure you realize, that everything I’m saying is correct. It’s what needs to be done.” </p>
<p>“Well, I can gives you my answors to allsa dis <em> Prophecies </em> shits rights de fucks now. It ams a fat fuckingk <em> noes </em> ,” he hisses, shoving his chair aside violently. “The woirld can fuckingks <em> born </em>, you thinks I cares about all dem stupids mortal dildos? I doesn’t! Me and Tokis will fucks through the entire apolcalypse, fors all I cares!” </p>
<p>Is refusal really an option? And...would he be able to live with himself, if they did try to run away from all this? If he ditched Murderface, would he be any better than the rest of the band, who left him in captivity so long without looking? Toki forces himself to look through his fingers, and Nathan is holding tight to Pickles, eyes wild as he huffs breathlessly, “Yeah. Yeah! We don’t have to do this shit. There’s no fucking way I’d chose <em> anybody </em> over Pickles. <em> Fuck that </em>, Charles.” </p>
<p>“Even if you run, Salacia will seek you out. He will force you to fight him like he has before, and even if you lose, the world will still reset. You’ll just be killed again and sent into entirely new lives, until you get it right.” </p>
<p>“We can runs from him,” Skwisgaar says firmly, eyes on Toki as he pushes his messy blonde hair out of his fear-flushed face. “We’s been doesing it dis long, we can keeps doingk it forevors.”</p>
<p>“How hard could it be to run from, like. A krillion-year-old demon. Like, he can’t be faster than us. We can, like. Live in the ocean, because he can’t catch us there, right?” </p>
<p>Charles shakes his head, “He’ll always find a way to infiltrate, just like he did when we put Mordhaus underwater. There is no escape from destiny, boys. Again, I’m ah. I’m <em> sorry </em>.” </p>
<p>“I onlies gots one destinies,” Skwisgaar hisses, slamming a palm down on the table. “It ams to be with Tokis, and plays my guitars. Anythingk else can fucks off and die.” </p>
<p>“We...we have to,” Pickles speaks slowly, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly, and everyone snaps their heads over to look at him. </p>
<p>“<em> Whats </em>?” Skwisgaar hisses, throwing his arms out. “Why de fucks woulds we haves to do anythingk? Dis amnst our problems!” </p>
<p>“Whet happened the last time thet we chose ourselves over our bandmate? We fucked everything up, and we fuckin’ regret it every single day. We <em> can’t </em>leave Murderface,” Pickles sniffles, rubbing at his tired eyes helplessly. “He’s fuckin’ right, guys. We did make ‘im feel like the Fifth Wheel, and thet was so fuckin’ shitty of us, because we wouldn’t even be here without ‘im. I know I’d have died in a gahddamn dumpster if he wouldn’t have saved me. We gahtta save ‘im, too.”</p>
<p>“Pickles. Before you, ah. Agree to anything - because this has to be a choice, that the five of you make. The Prophecy will only come true, if you dedicate yourselves to fulfilling it,” Charles says, eyes flickering up to their drummer uneasily, and Toki already knows what he’s going to bring up, and his heart hammers loudly in his ears in a dreaded anticipation. “There’s a line in the Prophecy, that says this - <em>‘the storm will calm, but the Beat will cease, swallowed in its own dreams, and the Heart will blacken in its wake.’</em>” </p>
<p>Nathan looks like he’s about to fall apart, hair falling into his eyes as he stares at their intertwined hands. Pickles merely blinks, raising a studded eyebrow as he asks, “Uh. Is thet s’posed to mean samthin’ to me, or?” </p>
<p>“You are the Beat. Nathan is the Heart,” their manager says softly. “The Church has spent hours pouring over that line - and we’ve come to the conclusion, that the only thing it can mean, is you’re...not going to make it through this.” </p>
<p>Pickles’ eyelashes flutter, jaw dropping slightly, shoulders spiking up in surprise. All that comes out of his mouth is a quiet, “<em> Oh </em>.” </p>
<p>“Hey. <em> No </em> , that is not fucking happening. <em> None of this </em> is fucking happening,” Nathan snarls instantly, slamming their intertwined hands down on the table, because if Pickles believes it, then that means he has to try and comprehend it too. He looks absolutely terrified, as he growls, “This Prophecy doesn’t know shit. If anybody wants to fuck with him, they’d have to get through me first.”</p>
<p>“Sees!” Skwisgaar exclaims, fisting at his own hair, “Dis ams a bunch of bullshits, and we amnst participatingks ins it!” </p>
<p>“Nah, dood. We still gahtta,” Pickles swallows, trying to look strong as he sets his mouth into a hard line. “We’re naht leavin’ him out dere to lose his mind ferever.” </p>
<p>“We are <em> not </em> doing this,” Nathan growls almost pleadingly, “I’m <em> not </em> fucking taking that chance.” </p>
<p>“Thanks you, Nathans. I’m glads you ams beingks sensiblies about dis.” </p>
<p>“Look, my life is <em> naht </em>more valuable den his. He put himself on the line over and over t’save me, and if I gahtta go to the Arctic by myself, den thet’s whet I’m gahnna do,” Pickles says, tears rising and nose reddening. “I mean, think about yer fuckin’ family, Nate’n. You can’t give up yer dad for me.” </p>
<p>“I cans,” Skwisgaar says simply. “It amnst happeningks.” </p>
<p>Toki is much, much too overwhelmed to try and comprehend any of this. Too much has happened to him in the past twenty-four hours, and he needs to get away. He pushes up from his spot at the table, rushing into one of the bedrooms and slamming the door shut behind him. He curls up on the unfamiliar bed, squeezing a pillow tight to his chest, pale blue eyes wide and petrified. </p>
<p>“Wow, Pickle, looks what you did, now Toki ams all cries-babies in de other rooms because <em> you </em>ams puttingks it into his heads dat we gotta do dis shits!” Skwisgaar’s angry voice carries down the hall, and he brunette squeezes the pillow tighter to himself. “You can’t does it without mes, and I can promskise you, it amnst happeingks! So dere, Nathans doesnts have to picks you over his dads, because I mades dat choice for hims.” </p>
<p>“I’m too fuckin’ tired for this shit,” Pickles snaps, the sound of a chair scraping against the floor audible. “But I’m jest lettin’ you know, det I’m goin’ to get ‘im, with or without you.” </p>
<p>“Have funs! I’ll be anyswhere else.” </p>
<p>Toki crushes the pillow against his face, and sobs until he's about ready to pass out. Just as he finally starts to drift off into what's sure to be a nightmare-fueled sleep, he hears the telltale click of the door opening and softing closing. He can feel Skwisgaar's familiar, lanky frame hovering at this bedside, and the brunette's voice is muffled, "I don'ts wants to talks about de Prophecies anymores." </p>
<p>The blonde sounds disgusted at the mere idea of discussing something so absurd, "Don'ts even be worryingk about dat dumb shits. It amnst goingk to happens."</p>
<p>He has a feeling that it <em>is</em>, though, and he merely sniffles as he curls in further on himself. Skwisgaar continues softly, "<span class="s1">I...ehm, I just wants to explains myskelf, about Magnus.”</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toki doesn’t say anything for a long time, and the blonde waits patiently. Finally, he sighs into the pillow, “What more ams there to says?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Skwisgaar swallows audibly, muttering, “Charlies tolds me about Magnus. He says he gots him down dere, I tells him to kills him slowlies and painfullies. He says dat Magnus can’t dies - didnst tells me whys - and dat he needs informations from hims. When he asks me if I haves any suggestions, because regular torture amnst workingks...I saids, dat I would gives it a shot.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toki sniffles again, trying to get ahold of himself before he bursts into hysterics. This is just all too much for his already-fragile brain to handle, and he whispers, "I don't wants to thinks about you torturins <em>anyone</em>. Dat ams never the answers, not even for hims. It ams <em>wrong </em>to chains someone up and hurts dem, Skwisgaar."<br/></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Skwisgaar takes a seat on the bed next to him, </span>
  <span class="s1"> hands falling into his own lap. “I gots to be honest with you, Tokis - yous was up dere in my room, screamingks in your sleeps, and I wanteds him to suffor. I wanteds to make him feels everythingks dat he mades you feels. So I dids. And he desorved it, and I ams sorries I didnst tells yous, but I didnt want yous to spiral backwards. You finallies starts workingks through it all, and in a way...doingk bad things to hims, helps me works through de stuffs dat I went through, too.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dids what I did to myself, because I thoughts he was goins to hurts you,” Toki says, lifting his teary face up to finally look him in the eyes. “You goes down dere, and what if he gets free? What if he fucks you ups? You has any idea how scaries dat ams for me, knowins you was with him and I didnst even knows about it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorries,” Skwisgaar says softly, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind his ear. “I just...I wanteds to fix it so bads for you, Tokis. I wanteds to be the porfect boyfriend, and I watches you suffors, and I feels so fuckingks helpless. I felts like I was fixing it, and like I wasn’t so helpsless, and it was selfish of mes. I ams a selfish guy, and I tries to be bettor for yous, but sometimes it amnst so easies…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why you puts so much pressure on youself to be a perfect boyfriends? I fells in love with yous, for everythins that you ams. Evens the stupid selfish asshole parts.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I knows you desorves better than what I gives you, befores. Thinks about how bad I always fucks it up with yous. We shoulds have been togethor after we kissed for the forst time - imagines if we coulds have had it like dis for fifteen years, instead of fuckingk one,” Skwisgaar says, tears threatening to fall as his blonde hair curtains his face. “And now de woild ams endingks, and we amnst gettingk anies of dat time back…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You wasnt readies for it, back den. It wouldnst have been like dis, if we didnst go through what we dids to get here,” Toki murmurs, one of his strong hands covering the one on Skwisgaar’s knee. He sighs softly, tapping his fingers nervously against the blonde’s knuckles, and his voice is a fragile whisper as he says, “I understands why you didnst tells me. And I understands why you hurts him, Skwisgaar. Because I tried to does the same, when he started threatenin yous. But you ams better than hims. Yous too goods to lower youself to his levels. And m</span>
  <span class="s1">aybe it ams my fault, that you amnst as scared of him as you shoulds be. I didnst tells you what I went through down there, and somedays when it doesn't hurts so much to talks about it, I will tells you." <br/></span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Skwisgaar nods weakly, and he wonders if the day will actually ever come that he'll be able to tell the blonde about the terrible things Magnus put him through. The shame and the pain that comes along with every story from when he was held captive is too much for himself to bear - and maybe it would be too much for Skwisgaar, too. Toki murmurs, </span><span class="s1">“You amnst the onlies one who ams tryins to makes youself bettor. The things he dids...he makes me a terrible person. Someone dat you would probablies be ashamed to loves."</span> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toki’s muscular frame is shaking like a leaf, and Skwisgaar finally stops trying to keep his distance. He gathers him up in his arms, kissing the crown of his head, both of his talented hands stroking the nape of his neck comfortingly. Toki is so relieved to be back in the blonde's embrace that it brings tears to his eyes, and Skwisgaar murmurs against the crown of his head, “Dat ams de stupidest shit you evor says. And yous says a lots of dumb stuff all de time, Tokis."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can't help it - he laughs. He laughs until he cries, clinging to the fabric of the Skwisgaar's ash-covered shirt like it's the only thing grounding him to this plane of existence, and the arms around instantly become just as desperate. They crush each other close, just like they did in the middle of the fire just hours ago, and it's strange to hug someone you love so much, not knowing how many more time you'll get to hold them like this. He sobs brokenly into golden hair, "I don't wants to forgets you again. I <em>can'ts </em>forgets you again, I loves you so much and I's so <em>scareds--"</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I told yous," Skwisgaar cups his face in his hands, his own tearful features firm, "Dat it amnst anythingk to worries about. I would watch the entire woirld end with fuckingk popcorn, if it means dat I gets to be with yous. Nobodies mattors to mes, except for yous, and we amns nevor forgettingk each others. Does you undorstand?" <br/></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods through his tears, even though he knows that this is all out of their hands. Charles had said they can't escape their destiny - and Toki has a feeling that the end of everything he loves is barreling closer like a freight train. They press their foreheads together meanginfully, and Skwisgaar places one of the brunette's hands over his pounding heart, whispering, "<span>Still beatingks, and it ams all for yous. Always." </span></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <span>"Will holds you to thats," Toki murmurs back, eyes shining, and they meet in the middle for a mournful kiss. Hands push into his hair, and then there's a lean body straddling his own, trying to convey a myraid of emotion in the desperate roll of his tongue and the tight grip of his shaking hands. Toki kisses back just as wantonly, eyebrows furrowed and tears rolling down the sides of his face, and his hands are all over the blonde, clutching at his face, his arms, his thighs - begging to feel like everything is going to be okay. <br/></span>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <span>"Marries me," Skwisgaar breathes against his mouth, and pale blue eyes snap open in shock. "Marries me, and we'll runs away when we gets to de surface. We'll nevor stops runningk, we'll finds somewhere dat he can'ts find us. It amnst ideal, but we'll be happies, Tokis. I'll keeps you happies for de rest of yous life." <br/></span>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <span>He stares at the blonde with a dropped jaw, and he realizies, in this moment, that Skwisgaar is terrified. He knows just as well as Toki does that this is the end of everything. That the Prophecy is going to come true, and they're going to be separated for the rest of their lives. But then long fingers scrabble to pull a ring box out of a suit coat pocket, popping it open and holding it out with one hand as he wipes tears from his blue eyes with the other. He sucks in a wet breath, voice a whispered plea, "Marries me, Tokis. Please."</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <span>Skwisgaar asking him to marry him, to be together forever, to say fuck it to fate and spend the rest of their lives in each other's arms. But if he accepts, everyone he knows and loves will stay dead - Murderface will be left to perish in the same way that he once had, and judging by the wound on Pickles' wrist, he'll probably be lost to the same thing. Toki has to make a decision, and staring into those desperate eyes that he loves so infinitely, he knows that either choice isn't going to be easy. </span>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <span>He inhales deeply, cups the sides of the blonde's teary face, and gives him an answer. </span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>SORRY BOUT THE CLIFFHANGER LOL <br/>at the end when skwis said "still beatingk, and it ams all for yous" was a mirror scene of when toki came back to life in the dethsub and said that to him, and i just thought id reiterate that so everyone can feel nice and heartbroken lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. the ocean galaktik</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>graphic depictions of death/violence and a lil tiny sex scene ahead</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“You evors been in loves before, Ethels?” Skwisgaar’s bloodshot, empty eyes were burning holes into the ceiling of a place the blonde was too high to recognize. Toki had been gone, at this point, for two months - and every minute since he’d been stabbed had been nothing more than miserable, drug-fueled blurs. He blindly groped next to him for one of the many liquor bottles he kept stockpiled nearby, always within reaching distance. He didn’ check the label to see what kind before he tipped his head back, and started chugging. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, yes. A very long time ago. He was my soulmate. You only get one great love, you know.” Her voice was soft, and Skwisgaar didn’t know why she was even there. He’d been hanging out with floozies, getting drunk with them, but not fucking them - and while the majority expressed  disappointment that he wasn’t in the mood, some just kind of palled around and kept him company. Anything seemed better than being around the guys - around Nathan’s bloodshot teary eyes and Pickles’ guilty drunk sobbing and Murderface’s emotional temper tantrums. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She asked him gently, “Have you had yours?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Skwisgaar’s long fingers dropped the empty bottle into the abyss of empties scattering his floor, and his blonde hair fell into his face as his head lolled. He thought of the balcony, the way Toki’s eyes would shine at him across the stage as they played together, and the cassettes that he played along with at night to try and pretend his rhythm guitarist was still with him. He sniffled miserably, red-rimmed eyes squeezing shut as he nodded once. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He ams gone,” he muttered helplessly, a clenched fist coming up over his eyes. “I misses him so fuckingks much...” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Here’s what I’ve learned, about that one great love. Even if you get split up, you always find your way back to each other,” Ethel offered, and Skwisgaar felt hot tears roll down his face, because he wished he could believe her. “Soulmates can’t be kept apart.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Now more than ever, Skwisgaar holds onto that conversation with a desperate conviction, as Toki traces the planes of his chiseled cheekbones in a way that’s so familiar it brings even more tears to his eyes. He hadn’t believed Ethel, at first - but then they got him back, and then his </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind</span>
  </em>
  <span> was soon to return, and Skwisgaar was a firm believer in soulmates, because Toki did always come back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been told, tonight, that it’s all true. Toki is his other half, the love of </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of his lifetimes - and yet, he’s trapped in the life where they’re not destined to end up together. And he refuses this, outright rejects it, because there is no drive to the beat of his life, without his melody there to lift him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skwisgaar,” Toki says softly, desolation evident in his voice as he presses their foreheads together. This isn’t how he wanted to do it - the first and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>proposal of his entire life - but by god, he needed to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>to try and prevent whatever is supposedly fated to happen. It’s just like when he told Toki he loved him for the first time, when the brunette had been about to sink completely into Salacia’ grasp and the declaration dragged him back from the brink - this wasn’t how it's supposed to be. His hand holding the ring box shakes, as Toki murmurs, “I wants to marries you more den anythins in the entire woild. And if you donts believes me…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette reaches into his own singed suit jacket, pulling out a little white box. He flips it open, revealing a huge black diamond, inside the mouth of a twisting, golden dragon. It’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he can barely breathe, and his blonde eyelashes flutter, causing some tears to flitter down his face. He’d been hoping all night that he could propose before Toki did - but in this moment, he feels like he would’ve been perfectly fine if it had happened the other way around. He hears himself choke out a strangled, “Tokis…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I picksed dis out de day after yous came back from Swedens. I throws myself into beins de lead guitarist, and I trieds not to miss yous...but I realized dat I hates my life withouts you. Yous all dat I wants, since de day I auditions, and Charlie ams </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when he says dat you ams de piece of myself dat I had always been missins,” Toki says, pressing their foreheads together, eyelashes fluttering delicately. “You ams </span>
  <em>
    <span>everythins </span>
  </em>
  <span>to mes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jeg elsker deg så mye</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jag älskar dig också</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Skwisgaar’s voice is nothing but a fragile whisper, because he knows exactly where this is heading. Just like the ring that he holds out his finger to let Toki put on him, he knows the brunette too well. He’s going to pick saving their friends, because he’s wonderful and caring and would put the people he loves over himself every time - and Skwisgaar is desperate to convince him otherwise. He offers the blonde a teary smile, holding out his own ring finger, and the blonde’s hands continue to shake as he slowly slides it on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I will marries you,” he says softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of his messy blonde hair behind an ear. Pale eyes squeeze shut, as he sighs desolately, “Evens if we gets split up, at least we’ll haves--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We amnst gettingk--” Skwisgaar can’t even bring himself to say it, the mere idea cutting off his breathing for a good five seconds. He gathers himself together, because he knows he needs to sell this, if he’s going to get Toki onboard with running away. “I tolds you, it will all be okays, if we just ams smart about dis. I means, thinks about what Charlie ams saysingk - we ams soulmates, but we amnst fateds to be togethor? It doesn’t make any fuckingk sense. De Prophecies ams </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust mes, I don’ts wants to does it just as much as yous. Fucks, Skwisgaar - I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what it ams like to lives without knowins you, and it ams </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” the brunette squeezes their hands together, clearly on the verge of more tears. “But you knows we can’ts just runs aways. Moidaface, and Pickle, and our friends and families...dey ams all countins on us--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’ts even starts dis, Tokis. I swears to gods,” he huffs, hoping irritation masks the terror he feels at the concept of actually having to go through with this. He knows, with enough conviction, he can convince the brunette to run away with him. And he opens his mouth to say everything he needs to say, to drive his point home - but then, his vision snaps right off, and he’s thrown somewhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He jumps as a horse and carriage flies past him in the dark, and while the rain beats down, it passes through him like he’s a ghost, making loud pattering noises on the brick road underneath his boots. He’s in the middle of the now-empty street, around all these old Swedish houses that look like they’re from long, long before his time, and why is he seeing this? He’s never been here before, even though it suddenly feels oddly familiar…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tokis!” he hears himself yell, and his hair swings as he turns his head, squinting through his darkness to see a purple glow shining distantly in the woods. He follows it dazedly, weaving around trees and bushes before he hits a clearing, and the sight in front of him makes him stop dead in his tracks. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In the middle of the clearing, as the rain slices through the nighttime air like shards of glass, is himself, Toki, and the Half Man. They’re dressed in the same 1800’s-esque fashion as the houses - they’re both in soaked-through formal dress shirts, Toki’s suspenders hanging from the sides of his pants, tie undone around his neck. When the blonde gets a closer look, he can see the blood pouring down both of their faces, purple glowing brightly from two sets of terrified blue eyes, and Salacia lifts a hand. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tokis, don’ts--don’ts gives in! Tries to gets aways!” the blonde begs desperately, and as the hand rises, both of them lift up their own acoustic guitar over their heads. Past Skwisgaar sobs, “You gots to fights it!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’ts--he won’ts lets me puts it down!” Past Toki yells, muscles in his arms tensing and untensing as he struggles. “Skwisgaar, I don’ts knows what to does!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Go,” Salacia says, tensing his fist, and both of them scream in horror as they bash each other with the guitars, beating each other violently until the instruments are nothing but tiny pieces, and they’re still being forced to fight afterwards. They struggle for what seems like forever, mercilessly reducing the other to bloodied messes as they roll around in the grass, sobbing and apologizing the entire time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You gots to beats me,” Past Toki sobs, as he gets the upper hand, straddling the blonde and squeezing his hands around his neck. “Don’ts stops fightins, Skwisgaar! You gots to beats me!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Past Skwisgaar chokes, clawing at his face, yanking at his hair, finally kneeing him in the gut and reversing their positions. Past Toki thrashes as he grabs either side of his head, and the blonde gasps, “Toki, runs! Punch me in the fuckingk mouths, does somethingk!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He won’ts lets me moves!” he screams, blue eyes terrified as they look up into the blonde’s. He gasps, “I’s will sees you in Valhallska--” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Noes! Fights mes!” the blonde yells, blood gushing from his eyes, and his hands start to turn. “Don’t does it, don’t makes me does it, oh my gods--!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The snap is deafening, and Past Toki goes limp underneath him. Past Skwisgaar wails, as he’s puppeted to his feet, and Salacia comes up behind him, growling in his ear, “Maybe this will carry over, into your next life. Do not. Fucking. Run from me.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kills mes,” he gasps through his tears, blood pouring out every orifice in his face, as spidery hands come up to either side of his head. “Please, kills mes--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just as the demon snaps his neck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, reality clicks back into place, and the first thing he sees is Toki’s shocked face of concern. He’s shaking him, asking worriedly, “What’s happenins? Whats wrongs?’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skwisgaar has no idea what the fuck he just saw, but whatever it was, it sends him into a violent panic, grabbing Toki tightly and crushing him into a trembling hug. He tries to get ahold of his breathing, huge blue eyes darting back and forth as Toki keeps asking him questions, but nothing he’s saying is registering. That scene...he could practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, and he can remember it with a disturbing clarity, like it’s something that happened to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in a past life…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh gods,” he gasps, clinging to the brunette desperately. “Whats de fucks ams we supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Nathan’s eyes burn holes into the dark ceiling of the escape pod, and everything is still. The little ocean window is nothing but inky blackness of the night sea, and he hears the whales screaming in the distance, warning him about the events to come. He can’t sleep, even though his eyes are burning with tiredness. It’s been a long, long day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Pickles had stayed up all night, after the clock had struck twelve on the eve of their anniversary - they’d spent their first night as fiances cuddling and fucking and drinking and laughing, and they’d been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He can clearly see in his mind’s eye, his drummer from just twenty-four hours prior - wearing nothing but that open sleazy dress shirt, a huge crooked grin on his face as his hips rolled down against Nathan’s own, a small hand braced on the frontman’s chest, the other tracing hearts on his ring finger. He was so beautiful in that moment - so beautiful in </span>
  <em>
    <span>every </span>
  </em>
  <span>moment - that it took his breath away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down at Pickles now - his drummer had passed out almost the instant they’d stormed away from where Charles was sitting somberly at the head of the meeting table. He’s laying on Nathan’s chest, so small that he fits there perfectly - when they’re at home, he always sleeps like this, because he likes to hear the frontman’s thundering heartbeat. Usually, Nathan likes to watch him dream - to see the twitch of red eyelashes, hear the little puppy noises he makes, feel the way he pats out little involuntary drum beats. But now? Nothing makes him feel sicker, than to see him laying there limply, lost in whatever dreamlike trance he keeps slipping under. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you know,” Pickles murmured to him once, on their first Friender Bender, as the two of them laid drunk together in a Maui sunflower field. “Thet we’re all jest stahrdust?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He splayed a hand out to the clear night sky, starlight pouring through his fingers, and he’d been so young back then. His hair was wild and fanned out around him, a sunflower tucked behind his left ear, the moonlight gleaming off all the freckles on his face. Nathan had hummed, his own muscled arms behind his head, and he wasn’t looking at the stars - he was looking at Pickles, unable to tear his eyes away. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Seriously,” his drummer said, cute little nose tipped up to the sky. “Everything thet humans are made up of, is from, like. A big, metal supernova - somethin’ in the galaxy exploded once, and dets all we are. Dust from stahrs.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s brutal,” the frontman rumbled affectionately, face softening. He had thought about how Pickles was so smart, so infuriatingly attractive, and that he was so lucky to have met him. He’d never had a friend like this before, never made such a connection in his entire life. “Good lyrics.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Meybe thet’s how people are soulmates, if you believe in thet sorta thing,” he looked over at Nathan, then, contented eyes swallowed up in moonlight. “They were born from the same stahr, and have been tryna like—find the rest of themselves ever since. Ain’t thet why they call it yer ‘ather half?’”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nathan knew Pickles well enough to be aware of two things - similarly to how he rambles when he’s nervous, he can talk for hours when he’s happy. The other thing he knows? Pickles is a romantic, at his core, and he does believe in soulmates. Just like Nathan does - he’s believed it, since Snakes n’ Barrels’ last concert, when he looked through a sea of people and saw those electric eyes staring back at him, just like they were staring at him in that moment. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you think you’ve, uh. Found your stars yet?” Nathan had blurted, and he’d instantly kicked himself afterwards, because his words sounded much too hopeful and much too gay for his own liking. But then a crooked grin blossomed across Pickles’ face, and he murmured, “Yeah. I think I have.” And it had been all over for Nathan, ever since. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he raises a hand to his face and feels the wetness there. He’s supposed to be strong and brave and brutal - but truly, he’s terrified. Everything Charles had just told him...he doesn’t want it to be true, but if his premonition dreams are anything to base it off of, their manager is going to be right. He wants to refuse this fate - but if they don’t defeat the demon and try to run, what will happen to Pickles? Is that why Salacia had Murderface scratch him? To ensure that Nathan would try and fix it? Even if he tries to escape, even if he goes and fights, he’s prophesied to lose his drummer either way.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pickles,” he tries, shaking his shoulders, because he just really wants him to wake up and tell him everything is going to be okay. But he doesn’t stir, and Nathan picks up his limp arm, inspecting the glowing wound on his wrist. The symbols are climbing further upwards, bringing a rose vine of purple veins with them - just like Murderface had, when he’d stumbled out onstage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s worried about their bassist, too - no matter what any of his bandmates could possibly do to him, he’d never stop caring about them. Which isn’t metal, but he can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>help it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wonders where he is right now, if his body is being puppeted through an ice storm in the Arctic, blood rolling down his cheeks and snowy curls in his dark eyes. If there’s any rational part of them left, he must be so scared, and embarrassed. And if he’s not embarrassed, Nathan kind of hopes he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because what the actual fuck is he thinking? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Toki said that Murderface would’ve never told them how he felt about Pickles, if the demon wasn’t fucking with his emotions or whatever. But he still </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt that way</span>
  </em>
  <span>, behind Nathan’s back, this entire time. He was lusting after his boyfriend while they all palled around together, through every performance and adventure and lazy day, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>burns</span>
  </em>
  <span> his heart to even think about it. He’s never asked Pickles about his past relationships before, because he didn’t want to drive himself crazy thinking about his drummer being all gooey and disgusting for someone who isn’t him, but...maybe he should’ve asked, because he knows he’s missing something about whatever happened between Pickles and Murderface back before he met them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. Everything is so fucked up,” he hugs the snoring body on top of his own tightly, and his brain hurts from all the stress he’s been weighed down with today, all the decisions he knows he needs to make as the leader. Usually, he’s good at making choices for the group - but now, he just needs somebody else to tell him what the fuck to do. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what would be best for Pickles, best for the band, and he breathes into his fiance’s dreads as exhaustion starts to finally bring him under, “Help me out here, Pickles. I’m so lost. Tell me what to do to fix this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets no reply, and he finally falls into a miserable sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His eyes slowly flicker open, and he’s floating in the middle of the dark expanse of the ocean. He turns around, the water warping around him, panicked with the thought that he’d somehow gotten out of the escape pod and been left to drown. But there’s no pod behind him, nothing anywhere around him - and when he turns back around, he’s met with the sight of the water beast herself, illuminated in the sea by her own glowing aura. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She starts to sing her whale song, and Nathan watches her glow spread across the water, enveloping him completely. He feels confused, and kind of terrified, and thunder booms somewhere above the surface, a low note on Toki’s Snow Falcon, followed by a crackle of lightning that sounds like a wild riff on Skwisgaar’s Thunderhorse. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He hears a melody, in his head, and he realizes that the water beast is communicating with him through her song. ‘Let me talk to you,’ she says, so he does - he closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and gives himself to the connection. ‘You need to accept your fate. You are the Chosen Ones. The things that you’ve been told, have to come to be.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘No,’ he says back, eyelashes fluttering as he squeezes them tighter. ‘I won’t lose him.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You tried to escape this, in your Past Lives. That is why you failed, and the outcome is worse than you could’ve possibly imagined.’ Behind his closed eyelids, he can see flashes of images - Pickles reaching for him in the expanse of space before turning to dust, galaxies imploding behind them. Pickles’ body strung up on an upside-down crucifix, guts hanging from his stomach and curtaining his face. Pickles in a 1920’s getup, blood dripping down his cheeks as he’s puppeted to shove a rifle in his own mouth. The images go on and on - all these ways, that his drummer has been forced to die, and Nathan begs as the tears glow on his face, ‘Stop, fuck! I don’t want to see this!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘He was always meant to go. But he was always meant to be yours.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When the images flash this time, the lifetimes switch like backgrounds behind Pickles, along with the outfits and the style of the era, but the crooked grin and the love-drunk eyes directed at Nathan never change. It pauses, on the first time they met in this life, and Nathan remembers it so clearly - he’d been up onstage, nervous to perform at his first ever show for a real celebrity-grade band, and when he spotted Pickles in the crowd he lost his voice completely. He’d just stood there, gaping over the microphone and heart hammering in his ears as Skwisgaar picked up for him on the guitar, and this smile exploded across the redhead’s face, a hand fluttering up over his heart. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘It is your job, to get him to the finish line. If you do not get the demon out of his mind, and you try to run - the demon will force him to destroy you all. That is why he is inhabiting him - it is insurance. He will always have a man on the inside, and force you to fight. There is no running. You will fail again.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He sees a vision of the future he needs to prevent - Pickles blood-slicked and standing over the corpses of their guitarists, looking at him over his shoulder with manic, bloody eyes. Nathan blinks it away, gasping through his tears, ‘But--but if we do this, he’s going to die anyways. The Prophecy says that--’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Everyone interprets dreams differently, Nathan. The Prophecy is the same. There are facets of it, that the Church does not understand. Some things are not explicitly stated, when it comes to destiny. Life is not one fated path, even if the results are meant to be.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He blinks, entire body trembling as his heart hammers in his ears, ‘So...is there something I can do to prevent it?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘He was always meant to go,’ she repeats, and his face falls even further into despair. ‘But there is something you can do. You are one half of the same heart, and you’ll know, when the time is right. Soulmates cannot be kept apart. And you cannot be selfish. You need to serve your planet, as you were intended. Your brethren are counting on you--’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He sees a flash, of Murderface on his knees, face in his hands as the darkness creeps further up his arms. He sees Toki and Skwisgaar, riding side-by-side as they stab through Revengencers with modified weaponry guitars. He sees Pickles, reaching for him again, the sharp hand of Salacia clamped in a fist around his dreads. “--and your loved ones, are all counting on you.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The charred corpses of their family and friends blaze in front of him, and he feels woozy with seasickness, eyelashes twitching against his cheeks as he keeps them shut. ‘If you do this right, then peace will be brought to all. You will get everything you need. But you must be careful. Trust is the most sacred of all virtues, and you should not give it away so easily.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I don’t know what that means. Who shouldn’t I trust?’   </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nobody is safe from the Evil, at the end of the world. You need to stay alert. You need to be strong. You have a good heart, Nathan. You can get them to the ending.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pickles had said the same thing to him, on his anniversary tape. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘We are the sky. We are now the dust from the stars. We are the rain. We own the light,’ she says, and before he can ask her about it, his eyes snap back open</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he comes back to, it’s still dark outside, but he can see the ocean beginning to spark with the impending light of dawn. He’s sweating buckets, and he feels deep confusion and a grave clarity at the same time. But he knows now, that she’s right - if he has any chance at saving Pickles, they’re going to have to do this. She said that there’s something he can do, that soulmates can’t be torn apart - and he clings to that, is desperate for some type of happy ending, and he’s Nathan fucking Explosion. If anybody can make the impossible happen, it’s him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs to talk to the rest of the band - or, what’s left of them - and get them onboard. He has a feeling that Toki won’t be hard to sway, but Skwisgaar is going to be tough. He carefully removes the sleeping body on top of him, fixing his dreads for him like a doll as he lays him back against the pillows, and he lumbers out in search of his guitarists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, when he pulls open the door to the room the two of them had stormed off to, Toki is in bed by himself. He must’ve been unable to keep up his no-sleeping streak - he’s tossing and turning, throwing an arm over his eyes, making this little squeaky wounded noise as he dreams. It’s not like Skwisgaar to leave him to his own devices, and Nathan suddenly feels uneasy as he scans the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nathans! Hows you doingk, big guys!” the blonde exclaims, lifting his head up from where he’d been laying face-down on the floor. The frontman instantly bristles, because just a couple hours ago Skwisgaar was about to throw a panic-fueled tantrum the likes to which they’d never seen - Nathan had looked across the table so many times while Charles had been explaining things, and he didn’t even think the guy realized just how terrified he looked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. Skwisgaar? What, uh...what are you doing down there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’s just, eugh, enjoyingks my life befores it all falls aparts,” the blonde slurs his fast-paced words, rolling over onto his back and stretching his fingers out towards the ceiling. “What ams de points of stayingk sobers, if everythingk ams meaningless anyways.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathan takes a step closer, and while he’s like. Royally pissed at Skwisgaar for not letting him in on the whole “keeping Magnus in the basement thing,” there’s probably nothing he could do that would make the frontman stop caring about him. Which isn’t metal, but he can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>help it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You, uh. Been drinking?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“De fuckingk </span>
  <em>
    <span>clown</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Skwisgaar knocks his fists against his forehead as he scowls, “gives to me de...euughhhhh….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck,” Nathan gapes, as the moonlight illuminates the blonde’s face, and he gets a glimpse of powder underneath his red nose, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>! He feels a concerned frustration well up inside of him as he gets on his knees next to Skwisgaar, trying to pull him up, “Fuck, dude. You’re not supposed to be doing drugs, you…how much did you do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he’d been doing so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It had almost been two years since the guitarist has done the hard stuff, and he stopped stealing pills from Pickles the minute Toki came back to life. When Skwisgaar uses this kinda shit to cope, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>ends up taking it too far - Nathan thinks back to Ibiza, the day he finally took things over the top, when Murderface had stumbled over and grabbed the frontman’s arm, begging, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You gotta come with me. We don’t know what happened! One minute, Skwischgaar was schtuffing his body with drugsch like a golden-haired drug angel, and the next he schtarted schakin’ and freakin’ out!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When Nathan slammed through the front door of their little shack, Pickles was alternating between shaking Skwisgaar’s lifeless body and slapping him in the face desperately. His drummer looked up at him, blitzed green eyes terrified as he yelled, “Nate’n, thank gahd you’re here--he’s barely fuckin’ breathin--whet the fuck are we supposed to do?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles handled it all. He had Skwisgaar flighted to a small personal hospital run by the Church of the Black Klok, because nobody was sure if he was actually going to make it without needing to be brought back. He was terrified and exhausted when he came to, and Nathan remembers he, Pickles, and Murderface all holding each other in the waiting room for the several minutes they thought Skwisgaar had died. When he finally got somewhere stable, the band unanimously voted that Charles needed to do whatever was going to prevent this from happening again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skwisgaar was in rehab for a month, and the house had never felt more empty to Nathan. There was only three out of five of them at Mordhaus, and it felt...sickeningly wrong. He and Pickles clung to each other, staying at each other’s sides constantly and not letting the other be alone, and Murderface shut himself up into his room and didn’t come out until the blonde came back. He didn’t want to be alone with Nathan and Pickles, and the frontman hadn’t understood it at the time - but now, he kind of has a good idea as to why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Skwisgaar came back, tired and still missing Toki like hell, Nathan vowed he’d never let his friend get back to that point. Seeing him on the floor like this again is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> working for him, and he sighs as he helps him up, slinging a big arm across his shaky back as he starts walking them towards the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Noes,” he groans, hair curtaining his face as his body vibrates nervously, “I amnst leavingk Tokis!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll be alright. Come on, let’s just--you need to calm down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde sighs dramatically, letting himself be dropped onto the closed toilet as Nathan starts running cold water on a rag. He’s dealt with Pickles freaking out on uppers enough times that he’s practically a pro on calming people down on it, and he hands the blonde a cup of sink water to sip on as he presses the rag against his feverish forehead. Skwisgaar’s eyes get this distant, cloudy look to them, tiny pupils staring off somewhere else as he holds his left hand up, “Looks at what Tokis gives to mes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wow,” Nathan says at the sight of the huge diamond on the blonde’s finger, dark eyebrows jumping up in surprise. He understands what Charles meant earlier when he said he wasn’t sure if it was in bad taste to say congratulations, so he says softly, “That’s...great, for you guys. Toki, um. He really loves you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knows,” Skwisgaar whispers, the little crease in the side of his red nose deepening. “Buts for how much longers, until he forgets mes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soulmates can’t be kept apart,” Nathan quotes the words he’d been told back to the blonde, because he feels like he needs to hear them - as soon as he says it, the clouds in Skwisgaar’s eyes turn into a full storm, and then he’s crumbling forward. Nathan catches him, and he lets him sob into his shoulder, and whatever anger he’d been holding onto about the guitarist keeping shit from him flies right out the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skwisgaar sobs, hands like claws in Nathan’s back as he gasps, “I don’ts wants to do’s its--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Nathan says, tears of his own threatening to rise. “You’re right, when you said what Charles is saying didn’t make any sense. It’s up to interpretation. Maybe there’s things they got wrong - things they missed. I mean, those guys didn’t write the fucking Prophecy. They’re just, like. Trying to understand it. Maybe they’re fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dumb</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and they got it wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But whats if--whats if they ams rights?” Skwisgaar buries his face into his shoulder, choking out through his panicked sobs, “Whats if T-Tokis forgets me? He </span>
  <em>
    <span>promskised </span>
  </em>
  <span>he would nevors forgets me agains--and-and, whats if Pickle reallies--?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathan holds him out at arm’s length, forcing him to stare into his deadly serious eyes. “Listen. We made the wrong choice, about picking ourselves over Toki. We can’t do that again. Not to Murderface, not to Pickles, not to our families. Because if we try to run--it’s, it’s just going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span> for us, just like last time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde swallows audibly, and he doesn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, his fists clench against Nathan’s back, and he whispers, “I saws a vision, of...fucks, it sounds crazies to even says it…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What. Tell me, that’s--I’ve been seeing visions, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was one of de past lives, I thinks,” Skwisgaar whispers, like if he speaks it out loud, Nathan will think he’s lost his mind. “I convinced Tokis to runs away with mes, and...de demon makes us fights, anyways. He invaded us boths, and he...he makes us fights each other. To de death.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathan swallows thickly, the mere image of two people who love each other so much being forced to destroy each other making him feel nauseated. He thinks about what he saw, of a possessed Pickles looming over Skwisgaar and Toki’s dead bodies, and he knows in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>gut </span>
  </em>
  <span>that only terrible things will come if they try and avoid this. The blonde’s vision only makes this clearer to him, and he nods, “I know. I saw...something kind of similar. I saw what would happen if we run this time. Toki would </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Skwisgaar. So would you. He’d...he’d kill all of us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believes you,” the blonde huffs tearfully. “We ams so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucksed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he growls, trying to convey all the emotion he’s feeling in a single crushing look, “It’s going to be okay. We’re always gonna have each other. Our fate is up to us, not some stupid Prophecy. And even if we </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>forget, even if we can’t play - we’re always gonna be a fucking band.” Skwisgaar looks unsure, like he doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>the fuck to believe anymore, so Nathan owns the pep talk and drives it home, “I mean, fuck, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>the demon in his head, Toki couldn’t let you go. Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> think he could forget you? For </span>
  <em>
    <span>forever</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Be content with, I dunno, a fucking creepy church wife and a ton of dildo kids somewhere in assfuck Norway?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde’s eyes squeeze shut, bringing a tirade of tears with them. He shakes his head, hair curtaining his face, as he chokes out, “Noes.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The way he feels about you--it brings him back every fucking time. From stab wounds and comas and amnesia and </span>
  <em>
    <span>death</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If you think </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going to stop him, then you don’t fucking know him,” Nathan says firmly, giving Skwisgaar’s shoulders a rough shake, and the blonde is nodding tearfully, violently, heaving as he sobs half-hysterically. “And if you think I’m going to let Pickles die, then you don’t know me, either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I does this,” Skwisgaar gasps, tear-heavy blue eyes snapping up to Nathan’s own with a seriousness he may have never seen in the blonde before, “and de demon gets into my minds. You snaps my neck, if I tries and horts Toki. Does you undorstands?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathan swallows, but he’s pretty confident it’s not going to come to that, so he nods. Skwisgaar grabs the frontman’s shoulders, now the one to give him a shake, “I’s serious, Nathans. It could happens. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>sees it </span>
  </em>
  <span>happens. You gots to promskise. No hesitatingks, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>snaps it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he doesn’t want to promise that - couldn’t imagine grabbing someone he cares about so much and breaking their neck without a second thought. But he understands, and he hates that he understands, as he mutters, “Uh. I-I, I promise. If you, uh. Promise the same.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okays,” he breathes, and they share one last look of sadness and grief and understanding, before Nathan helps him off the toilet. He starts walking him back to his room, because Skwisgaar’s antsy to make sure Toki is coming out of his nightmares alright, and he hears the blonde mutter softly, “I ams sorries, you has to go through dis with Pickle. It ams...worth den your own death, to sees the porson you loves die.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezes his eyes shut, sharp teeth biting his own bottom lip, “He’s going to be fine. I’ll make sure he’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And fors de records. I’s happies, dat I’ll get to sees you guys get marrieds. As Pickle’s best mans - because you alreadies knows he ams askingk mes - I promskise, dat we’ll makes it reallies metal.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathan feels a little, miserable smile tug at the side of his face, and they continue on. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Their first kiss wasn’t at the bar in Mordhaus, when they were high on acid and shotgunning smoke - it was the first kiss in a long fucking time, but not the very first. And Pickles dreams about it - the first night they met, the lights of the club that the final Snakes ‘n Barrels after party was being held. He looks across the room, flashing Will a thumbs up as he drags an incredibly apprehensive Nathan onto the dance floor, and he misses the miserable way his bassist flashed the gesture back, trying to smile but baring his gapped teeth instead. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were dancing together - beer bottles clinking, his red hair in his eyes as he grabbed Nathan’s hands and bopped around, the incredulous laugh of, “what the fuck are you doing?” making him giddy and lighthearted. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know,” Pickles says, drunk and dizzy on the most instantaneous and intense love he’s ever felt as he slings his arms tight around the larger man’s neck, bouncing up on his tippy toes to reach him, “I gahtta feelin’ yer gahnna change my life, Nate’n.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nathan blushes, swallowing visibly as this shy smile spreads across his face, and he mutters, “I think you, uh. Already might’ve changed mine.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The redhead brushes his wild hair out of his own eyes, this warm feeling exploding in his chest as he grins, “Yeah?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I was, uh. Don’t tell the other guys. But I was gonna leave the band,” he grumbles, eyes darting away. “I wasn’t...I don’t know. It didn’t feel right, to me. Not all the way. But...I feel right, with you being here. I’d stay, if you stayed too.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His heart is gone, in that moment. He might as well just yank it out of his own chest and hand it to this beautiful, brutal guy in his arms, and he suddenly feels like he’s going to cry of happiness, as he grabs him by the sides of the face and kisses him. Nathan makes a noise of surprise, eyebrows jumping up and hands splayed out at Pickles’ sides, and the music shreds around them in a perfect, spectacular clarity, as he kisses back, his own hands on the sides of Pickles’ face, and it’s like all his stars are finally back together, in that moment. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sahrry,” he breathes against his mouth, unsure of what came over him. “I jest--I felt like I really needed t’do thet, y’know?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, I uh. Yeah. I know. I...felt that, too,” Nathan exhales softly. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pickles pulls back, grinning widely, as he whispers, “I’ll stey, if you stey too.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When Pickles’ eyes flutter open, snapping him back to reality, he’s staring into Tony’s face, and it’s wildly jarring. The pain in his head and his wrist instantly hit him full force, and he squeezes his eyes shut to block out that painfully familiar face, groaning, “Oooohhhh shit. Whet the fuck….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pickles!” Nathan exclaims, and Tony flashes him a tight, worried smile before quickly stepping aside, giving the frontman room to gather him up in his arms and crush him close. “Fuck, Pickles. You’ve gotta stop doing this to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, I’m sahrry babe. Did I fall asleep again?” he asks groggily, planting a kiss to the side of Nathan’s head. His head lolls backwards, face contorted in pain, “Oh, I feel like fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we’re almost back on land,” Nathan says, nuzzling against the side of his face, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying not to cry. “You just...need some fresh air, and you’ll be okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sweetness of his dream fades away as the previous night’s events slowly come back to him, and god, so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened </span>
  </em>
  <span>yesterday. And he’s still going to have to talk to Nathan about all of it. But what the fuck is he supposed to say about Murderface, about Magnus, about the fact that he’s going to die? Exes and death are usually not the topic of interest for people who just got engaged twenty-four hours ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s like he woken up on the escape pod in an alternate reality - Murderface is in fucking love with him and possessed by a demon, their house is gone, their families and friends are dead, and his own impending prophetic demise is apparently creeping up on him, too. Of course, Seth and Tony are the only ones out of everyone to make it - if all that heroin never killed his old bassist then nothing can, and his brother’s just kind of like a cockroach, able to claw his way out of any situation that should’ve ended his miserable existence. It’s really, really not fair. </span>
  <span>The universe really hates him that much, doesn’t it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through all his grief, he can only feel two things - misery, and exhaustion. The exhaustion kind of throws him for a loop, because it’s not like, an emotional tiredness. His body is screaming at him to go back to sleep - his eyes feel heavy, he can’t stop thinking about returning to whatever sweet dreamland he keeps getting locked up inside of, but he knows if he passes out Nathan might actually spontaneously combust, so he forces himself to power through for as long as he can.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow, ow,” Pickles hisses, clutching at his glowing wrist and shivering in the frontman’s arms. Apparently, powering through isn’t going to be easy, and why does it hurt so bad, where Murderface scratched him? It’s gotta be some freaky demon-related shit, and the implications of that do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>leave a good taste in his mouth. “Fuck, thet stings.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh, shit, y’know, let’s see the damage,” Seth says from somewhere behind him, and Pickles peeks over Nathan’s shoulder, to see everyone in the pod watching them carefully. Skwisgaar and Toki are holding hands tightly - they must’ve made up, in the time he’s been asleep - Tony is looking at him with that sad kicked puppy look that’s always made Pickles feel stupid and guilty, Charles looks a bit more dissheled and unkempt where he stands in the doorway, and Seth is coming over to probably get a kick out of the drummer’s misfortune. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone else is suddenly taking cautious steps forward, trying to get a look at it too, and when Seth grabs Pickles’ wrist with such force that it makes the singer growl warningly, everyone’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh shit! That’s fuckin’ nasty, Pickles. Huh, who did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> piss off?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My bassist,” the redhead mutters guiltily, then yanks his arm away with as much strength as he can muster when his brother starts trying to get a better look at the wound. “Hey, step the fuck back, dood. I don’t wanna know where yer hands have been and I don’t want ‘em anywhere near my general vicinity.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will did that?” Tony gapes, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “He was always like, your fuckin’ watchdog, man. He’d barely even let </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>around you without ripping my head off. Not that he didn’t try.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeeah, he’s, ah…” Pickles yawns, then shakes his head. “I dunno. Trust me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> barely even know whet’s goin’ ahn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re about to be, ah. Hitting land. We’re going to go to the land base, and start traveling to the Arctic,” Charles says, glancing at his watch. “I’ve informed Seth and Tony on everything that’s going on, so. They’re all up to speed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, huh, I don’t really believe in all that ‘powers of gods’ bullshit, y’know. I’ve fuckin’ beaten you in arm wrestling, like. Since the beginning of time. You’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> strong, y’know,” Seth says easily. He glances over at the redhead, trying to look uninterested - or, maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>genuinely </span>
  </em>
  <span>uninterested, Pickles can never tell - as he mutters, “The whole, uh. ‘Dying’ thing. That fuckin’ blows, huh? Thought I’d always be the one to kill you, so, huh, kind of a disappointment for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s, like. Gotta be something you can do to prevent that,” Tony says nervously, wringing his hands, and it’s so fucking weird, to see him actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>caring</span>
  </em>
  <span> for once. He definitely didn’t care about the possibility of Pickles dying when he was shoving needles in his arm every couple hours like clockwork - didn’t even come to the hospital when he OD’d. It irritates him, makes his chest feel tight as anxiety starts to roll over him, and the drummer snaps, “Can I jest--get some fuckin’ space in here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, fuck. Everybody out,” Nathan snaps instantly, pointing towards the exit. “Fucking scram. Bye bye. Get out. There’s the door, fucking use it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone scatters pretty quickly, but Skwisgaar and Toki linger anxiously. The blonde especially, looks stricken with worry as he glances back at him, and the two of them make eye contact, some type of silent mourning passed between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Toki breaks, rushing over to his bedside and hugging him tightly. Nathan lets him, and Pickles sighs as he hugs him back as tight as he can muster. “You ams goins to be okays, Pickle. We ams all here with yous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, dood,” he says weakly, and Toki lets go, his pale blue eyes watery as he steps back. Skwisgaar is right behind him, and he leans down to hug him, but hesitates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eugh, I knows you...ehm. Mights be mads at me,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head. “And--and I’m sorries I didnst tells you dat--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jest shuddup ‘n hug me, jackass,” Pickles smiles tiredly at him, and Skwisgaar instantly obliges, lanky limbs encircling him tightly. He manages a laugh, bumping the sides of their heads together, “Was kinda shitty best man behavior, but. I’ll let it go, jest dis once.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha’s!” he exclaims, holding him out at arm’s length. “I tolds you I woulds be his best mans, Nathans!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooooh! So does dat means Toki gets to be Nathans’ best mans?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The frontman rolls his eyes fondly, “Ugh. Whatever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gods! You won’ts be dissapointeds Nathans, I swear! I’ll be a ways better best mans den Skwisgaar!” Toki bounces excitedly, nearly tackling the frontman into a hug.  </span>
</p><p><span>“Pfft. Don’t gets it twisteds, Tokis. Just because I loves you, doesn’t means I amnts still way bettor den yous in everies</span> <span>deparkments.” </span></p><p>
  <span>Pickles can’t help but smile, as the guitarists start bickering with each other, and Nathan continues to hold him in his wonderfully comforting embrace. If he closes his eyes, he almost feels like he’s still at home, and he longs for his couch and his hot tub and the ability to have a normal day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, his phone rings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all stare at it, almost able to sense that something ominous is on the other line. Everyone they know and love are dead, so...who the fuck would be calling him? He grabs it off the nightstand, glancing down at the unknown caller ID, and he swallows as he slides to answer. “Uh. Hellooo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. Pickles waits a couple beats, and he shrugs at the other guys’ questioning expressions. He tries again, “Anybahdy dere?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Pickles.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His entire body goes completely stiff, eyes slamming wide open, breath catching in his throat. Everything is still, for just a second, and he’s pretty sure his heart has stopped beating out of sheer horror. He sucks in a wheezy breath of air, “This, uh...this ain’t funny. Who is this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh how you hurt me. Don’t recognize such a familiar voice? You’ve been with a death-growler for too long, huh,” Magnus cooes, and fuck, that’s him. Pickles feels the panic rising, and he starts patting Nathan’s arm - softly, at first, and then he’s shaking the frontman almost hysterically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He mouths to Pickles worriedly, taking his drummer’s free hand and squeezing. Pickles is silently hyperventilating, eyes squeezed shut as he hits the speakerphone button and gasps out, “Whey--whey are you callin’ me? Where the fuck is Will?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I’m calling </span>
  <em>
    <span>about</span>
  </em>
  <span>, actually,” Magnus says, and Toki’s knees crumple in on themselves at the sound of his voice, Skwisgaar having to scramble to catch him before he hits the floor. “He’s here with me. We’re going to be touching down at our destination pretty soon. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>figured </span>
  </em>
  <span>you guys would wanna know where he is, but then again. You weren’t in too much of a rush to find Toki, were you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tells him to fucks off,” Skwisgaar whispers harshly, face blazing with shame as Toki throws a hand over his own eyes, unable to catch his breath as he panics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he tell you guys yet, what happened down there? The things I got him to do? Oh man, it’s so fucking rich.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stops, stops,” Toki begs behind his hands, hair curtaining his face as Skwisgaar crushes the brunette’s face against his chest, hiding him from the world, and Pickles shakes his head, unable to see him falling apart like this. The mere idea of what Magnus put him through makes him feel like someone is eating him alive, tearing his intestines and skin apart with pliers, and he definitely cannot have </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>devastating bombshell dropped on him today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the fuck is Murderface?” Pickles asks dizzily, squeezing Nathan’s hand in his own like a lifeline. “How do I know he’s really with you? I wanna--I wanna tahk to ‘im.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhhh, don’t think he wants to talk to you right now, babe,” Magnus says, and Nathan tenses wildly next to him, making this weird little grunt of confusion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>a fucking bombshell that nobody’s ready to let drop yet, and when he sees both Toki and Skwisgaar look at the frontman anxiously he realizes that Nathan’s the only one in the room right now who doesn’t know he and Magnus used to be together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuckin’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>call me thet, and jest lemme talk to Will!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooh, that’s a nickname I haven’t heard in a while,” Magnus teases, then calls, “Hey, ‘Will!’ Did you hear that? How cute. Y’know, he wants to talk to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell him to go fuck himschelf,” Murderface says distantly, and his heart stops right in his chest, desperate to hear more of his voice, to know he’s some semblance of okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Sorry, he’s not up for it right now. But you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>see him, if you come to where we are before we pick up stakes again. I know I personally would </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>to see you. Maybe we could do that thing, you remember? After that concert in Rio, where you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Magnus!” Pickles yells, face absolutely burning, “Whey does it always have to be such a fuckin’ game with you, jest--jest tell me where you fuckin’ are, and we’ll be there!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re kinda going a little ways out. Goin’ to the North Pole. Give me a ring when you get here and we’ll talk more, yeah? But I’d hurry up, though. ‘Will’ is gettin’ pretty--oh shit, man, you’re bleeding again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath hitches in his throat, concern and fear washing over him like a sheet of ice, as Murderface mutters in the background, “Fuck. Why’sch it alwaysch gotta be out of my eyesch, it’sch fucking dischguschting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the line cuts off, leaving the four of them a broken mess yet again. There have been so many times, that Murderface came to his rescue. And how many times had Pickles said thank you? How many times did he pay that back? It was so easy, to needle him, because it kind of became the only way you could feel like you were palling around him without getting your head ripped off or accused of being gay. Pickles took him for granted, stomped on his heart for two decades without even knowing it, and now he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We gots to sees him,” Toki whines, looking wild-eyed and panicked as he clings to the blonde. He looks like he really doesn’t want to ask, but cannot contain the question, as he blurts, “Whats if he takes me back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three of their heads snap over to him, with matching looks of stormy determination. There’s no way in </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s happening, and Nathan growls, “Toki. I can promise you, that we would have his corpse shredded to pieces before he could even get the </span>
  <em>
    <span>idea</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“De best parts about alla dis shits is dat we can fuckingks kills him as soon as we gets de chance,” Skwisgaar hisses, face flushed with rage, and Pickles is kind of shocked to be in-the-know about this violent side of the blonde. He always knew Toki was animalistic and rage-fueled under the surface, but the Swede always seemed so calm and collective. Torturing a guy and itching to kill him is a surprising MO for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s got Murderface with him,” Nathan growls. “Once we get him out of there, Magnus is fucking dead. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>does he think he is.” He glances at Pickles, asking him a another silent question - </span>
  <em>
    <span>why did he call you babe? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The drummer itches with nausea, breaking their look as he clings to him tighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skwisgaar takes Toki back to their room, to try and calm him down, and this leaves Nathan and Pickles alone together. It feels like a bomb of nerves and anxiety just went off, and can they really do this without falling apart completely? And what other choice do they have? Pickles drops his head into his hands. He sighs, trembling from fear and exhaustion, “Fuck, dood. I’m so fuckin’ tired...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Nathan says softly, prying his hands gently away from his face, and they look at each other somberly. The side of the frontman’s mouth quirks weakly, as he rumbles, “Hey. I just wanted to say, um. You don’t have to worry, that you’re going to die. Because I’m not letting you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pickles grins tiredly at him, arching a studded eyebrow, “Because yer so big and strahng, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he smiles back, but there’s a sadness to his eyes that makes the redhead’s heart ache painfully in his chest. “The Prophecy can go fuck itself. Except for the, uh. The soulmate part. I, um. I believe that. About us.” He presses their foreheads together, eyes closing as he sighs, “I’ve always known, that you’re my soulmate.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re mine, Nate’n,” the redhead murmurs back warmly, cuddling in close as he shoves his way into the frontman’s lap. He drops his head on a burly shoulder, hugging him underneath his armpits, and the embrace is so tender and familiar that he closes his eyes, and his panic from speaking to Magnus slowly starts to ebb away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We should talk about the Prophecy. We should talk about Murderface, and Tony, and Magnus. We should talk about the wound on my wrist, and what that could mean. We should talk about what happens, if this is really the end.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Instead of saying any of these things, Pickles turns Nathan’s face, and kisses him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel so fuckin’ shitty right now,” he breathes against Nathan’s mouth, accentuating it with another kiss, “Jest...let’s jest feel good for a minute.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Fuck yeah,” Nathan breathes, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flutter shut, and they meet in the middle for a crushing kiss. The frontman has always conveyed his feelings best through physical activity, and Pickles can feel the fear rolling off of him in waves, can taste the devastation on his tongue, can hear the misery in the way their lips loudly lock and unlock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gahnna be okey,” he whispers, tucking strands of Nathan’s hair behind his ears. Pickles has told him before, that it’s okay to be afraid, even if the feeling is anything but metal. He, personally, is terrified out of his mind for the things that are supposed to come, and he knows Nathan is too, even as the frontman nods his head weakly and mutters, “Yeah. I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pickles kisses the top of his head, whispering, “We’re ahll jest stardust, anyweys.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>stardust,” he sniffles, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Pickles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m yours,” he cooes, leaning back into kiss him, and they get lost in each other. So lost, that time is suddenly skipping forwards, and Pickles is breathing hotly into his mouth, black-painted fingernails digging into the flesh of his hips as Nathan urges him downwards, over and over again, to match his rhythm. It’s mournful, and the frontman is blinking away tears as they rub their noses together, and he whispers against Pickles’ mouth brokenly, “I’ll stay, if you stay.” Just like back then, might as well just yank his own heart and hand it to him, as if it was even his anymore to give. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take much longer for the escape pod to pop to the surface, and the seven of them all stand together at the exit, unsure if they’re ready to see the outside world. It’s taking so much strength for Pickles to remain standing, because he feels so fucking awful - his frame is shaking with sickness, forehead beading with sweat as he struggles to keep his eyes open - but he forces himself to power through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Are you okay?” Nathan asks, nudging him gently, and they still haven’t talked about anything, and he knows they need to. He merely nods, squeezing his hand, and Charles stands in front of them all as he goes to open the airlocked door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Like I’ve mentioned, ah. Things are...kind of in a state of anarchy. So just, be prepared, for what you’re about to see,” he says, and they all look between each other nervously. Toki and Skwisgaar are holding tightly to each other, and the brunette offers his free hand to Pickles’ palm that isn’t locked up in Nathan’s, who smiles anxiously and takes it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Let’s fucking do it,” the frontman growls, squaring his shoulders as they all face forwards, and Charles eyes them cautiously before pulling open the doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gahd,” Pickles gapes, hand fluttering up over his mouth at the scene in front of him. “Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Thet ain’t good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Doomstar bleeds the sky red, saturating the destruction in front of them in the same color - buildings burnt to dust, Revengencers and Dethklok fans alike strung up as nothing more than headless corpses on poles scattering the street. It reminds Pickles of when Nathan was the governor of Florida, but on steroids, as he listens to the screaming and the gunshots and helicopters whirl by before smoking and spiraling downwards, as if they’re being pulled down to the surface by gravity itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Charles urges, cocking his own gun. “We’ve got a job to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pickles thinks of Murderface, inhales deeply, and they all step together into the burning abyss of the outside world. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pls leave ur comments ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. exitus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the song in g2 "exitus" is the vibes for this ch</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Dethklok has been spotted in the outside world for the first time in almost a year!” The Dethklok Minute host beams on TV, even as he stands in the middle of an apocalyptic wasteland, slicked in blood and holding a baseball bag covered in spikes. “And it looks like just because the world is ending, the drama hasn’t been put on hold!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, if Magnus never had to hear about this fucking band for the rest of his life, it still wouldn’t be soon enough. He’s been beaten, stabbed, and tortured by these assholes, and frankly, he’s pretty over it all. His memory is still a little spotty, but he does </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember </span>
  </em>
  <span>now - it had been like a flip was switched, and it all came flooding back to him the moment his feet hit the escape pod. He’s still kind of confused as to where he is, or how he got here, or what this fucking voice is whispering to him in his head, but he just chooses to roll with it, as he and Murderface sit together on the couch of the ship they’re traveling through the Arctic in, and watch TV.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If his memory serves him right, the brunette next to him </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>had something snarky to say, always had some sort of backhanded sarcastic comment, but he’s been eerily quiet throughout this entire trip. Magnus peeks over to look at him - Murderface is staring through dark, hooded eyes at the screen, fingers digging into his palms, blood dripping down his cheeks and mouth slowly oozing blackness. He suddenly tenses violently at whatever happens on TV, so Magnus ignores the nervous tremor that jets up his spine at the sight of him, and turns his attention back to the news. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, that explains it - a shaky recording shows an off-center shot of the band trying to make their way through throngs of rabid, Mad Max-esque fans. The voice in Magnus’ head growls excitedly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>they’re coming for him they’re coming for him they’re finally going to end it all.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Murderface’s hands shake, as they watch a reporter shove his microphone under Nathan’s nose, asking, “What’s wrong with Pickles? Why are you carrying him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he’d always been right about the two of them. All the fights, where Pickles had told him he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that he didn’t have feelings for Nathan, that he was all Magnus’. He’d been lying, of course, and the guitarist was well aware of it. He saw it in every stolen look, in every lingering touch and drunken late night stumbling into the apartment in each other’s arms. He had taken some solace in the fact that Pickles would never man up and make a move - but clearly, something has changed. It burns Magnus up inside, makes him bite his sharp teeth into his lower lip, as the voice in his head purrs for him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>take revenge, slaughter the pigs, make them regret everything they’ve done to you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck ahff, dood,” Pickles snaps, shoving the microphone away weakly, faintly trembling like he’s cold even as the world burns around him. He looks...weak, and sickly - </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes yes it’s working he’s falling apart</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and has one injured arm hanging limply to his side. Magnus has to admit, it’s kind of satisfying, to see the person who shattered his heart suffer - and he hates to admit it, but it kind of tears him up a little inside, too. He expects Murderface to show some emotion at this display, because he’s always been so tightly wrapped around Pickles’ finger, but his expression only hardens further. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Toki! Skwisgaar! Give us a kiss!” The guitarists are now on screen, working together as Toki bashes a zombie-like fan’s head against his knee and Skwisgaar pins said fan back by the arms. They both glance at each other before leaning over the person between them, pecking a kiss to each other’s lips before getting back to the task at hand. Magnus glares hard at the both of them - isn’t it funny, to see his captor dating his captee. The fact that he even </span>
  <em>
    <span>let </span>
  </em>
  <span>Skwisgaar torture him makes him feel absoloutely pathetic, even as the spot the too-tight collar had been clamped around his neck burns at the sight of the tall blonde. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seth and Tony stumble onscreen, and Magnus’ eyebrows jump in surprise at the lack of...leg, on the bassist’s body. Seth is helping him walk, with one of his arms slung around his shoulder, and he finger-guns at the camera with his free hand, “Hey, Mitch and Bobby, fuck! You guys are never gonna fuckin’ believe this, if you’re still fuckin’ alive - but--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A new wave of zombified fans crashes into them, and Nathan looks wild-eyed as he tries to maneuver himself and Pickles out of there - since both his hands are occupied and the redhead is too weak, Charles covers them. The reporters are still trying to badger them asking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>where’s William Murderface? Why has the band been out of the public eye for so long? Is an end of the world concert coming up? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The chaos is spiraling out of control, and Toki is getting wilder in his brutality as he tries to protect Skwisgaar. He grabs someone’s skull, tearing it right in half with his bare hands, and he doesn’t notice how shocked the blonde looks - jaw dropping, hand fluttering up over his mouth. Maybe because the brunette has this crazed, animalistic grin on his face as he loses himself to the violence, and the familiarity of it brings a slow smirk to Magnus’ face. Apparently, the things he did in the basement must haunt him more than anyone even realizes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shit! Chuck, there’s fuckin’ too many of these fuckers!” Seth yells, shooting the gun in his hand wildly as he tries to shove his way through the crowd. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m-I’m almost outta bullets,” Tony breathes, dark-rimmed eyes snapping around worriedly, and he knows just as much as everyone else that Dethklok fans do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>take well to non-band members. Pickles squirms himself around in Nathan’s arms, yelling over his bulky shoulder, “Get a gun from Charlie, dood! He’s gaht two!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony searches the crowd desperately, but there’s really no point, because suddenly, there’s a spiked sword shoving right through his stomach, and Seth is yelling about blood getting on his ash-covered clothing, and Pickles gasps out in horror, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whoever had been recording screams something, and the footage promptly cuts out. The Dethklok Minute Host comes back onscreen, chipper as ever, “We don’t know where they’re heading, but they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>rumored to have been spotted in some type of aircraft! Wherever they’re going, they seem to be in quite the rush, and with that stab wound, you can’t really blame them! And that’s the Dethklok Minute!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are they going?” Murderface mutters to himself, sitting stiffly upright, completely unaffected as the blood from his eyes splatters in a constant drip on his vest. God, his face looks so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so dark and threatening. Magnus still can’t really believe he blew up the entirety of Mordhaus, and it makes him wonder - if he was willing to do that to the people he’s supposed to care about, is he in some type of danger here? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kill me? They’re coming to fucking kill me?” Murderface breathes to himself, clutching at his head as he doubles over, breathing between his kneecaps, black bile oozing from his mouth and splattering onto the floor beneath him. “They did that to Toki, they fucking...fucking made him--” he pauses, listening to the voice in his head, before he jolts up and slams his hands down on his thighs so hard that it makes Magnus jump. “Thosche </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuckersch</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhh. What’s he saying, bud?” Magnus asks hesitantly, hating how nervous he sounds. He’s got the voice in his head too, but damn, at least he’s handling it with some </span>
  <em>
    <span>grace</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Murderface looks like a fucking psycho - and coming from Magnus, of all people, that’s saying something.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Said bassist whips over to look at him with so much animosity that it makes him go a little pale, and he growls lowly, “They’re coming to drown me out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why--uh. Why would they do that? Don’t really see what that would accomplish, I mean…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’sch in my </span>
  <em>
    <span>head</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Murderface whispers, eyes blazing with insanity as he pulls at his own curls fitfully. “They got him out of Toki. They’re coming to get him out again, but--but there’sch never been any schympathy for </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They want me fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> scho they can run off into the schunshet, and--” he wrings his hands in the air, darkness warping his features, eyes glowing a terrifying flash of different shades of purple. “After everything I’ve done for them...for Picklesch--the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>traitor</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just relax, man. Alright?” Magnus tries, feeling nervous, and he waits for the voice to say something to him, that it wouldn’t let Murderface hurt him, but it’s eerily silent. He stands up, trying to take a step backwards, but the bassist jumps up, stalking closer to him, and he has a feeling that once again, he’s going to get completely fucked up by yet another member of Dethklok. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You called Picklesch,” he growls dangerously, and Magnus swallows hard. “Call him again.” </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>After eight miles of walking through the end of the world, and twenty minutes of Charles scrambling around at the land base to prepare them for the long helicopter ride to the North Pole, Nathan can safely say that he feels utterly exhausted. He longs for Mordhaus desperately, for his bed and his easy chair and like, a giant slice of greasy pizza. The only thing that gives him any sense of comfort are his bandmates, and after their little excursion into the real world, nobody’s really in the mood for palling around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glares across the room, to the door where Pickles has been locked up with a team of Klokateers as they work on Tony’s stab wound. Somehow, even with one leg and a sword through his intestines, the bassist still made it long enough to get a team of the land base’s Klokateers. They worked fast, giving him an admittedly cool-looking robot leg, and have been treating his wounds as they fly over to the Arctic. Nathan feels pretty impassive to whether he’s dead or alive, but Pickles seems to be another story. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which, like, he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>understands</span>
  </em>
  <span> that his drummer wants to be in there. The frontman saw both Toki and Abigail get stabbed, and seeing it again - even on someone he doesn’t give a fuck about - was pretty mentally jarring. It brought a lot of shit he still hasn’t completely dealt with to the surface, and he puts it into perspective - if he saw, like. Rebecca, with a sword through her tits, he’d still feel pretty shitty about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan looks around to the remaining people in the little helicopter living room - Toki and Skwisgaar are curled up together on the couch, the blonde idly on his phone as the brunette snores on his chest. If their little journey from the escape pod to the base taught him anything, it’s that he has reason to be worried about </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>his bandmates. Pickles is obvious - he only made it less than a mile before his sneakers and turning in on themselves, legs unable to carry him any further. Nathan took it all in stride, gathering into his arms without hesitation, and he gladly carried him a solid seven miles, all the way to safety. How is he going to fight when the time comes, though? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Toki - he got kind of...um. Crazy, in mauling anyone who got in their way. They never really give him enough credit for how brutal he is, because on the surface, he just seems like a cutesy little dildo who colors and snuggles his stuffed animals. And they know he’s got that uncontrollable violent streak in him, but this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>different </span>
  </em>
  <span>than the couple other times he’s seen it. He looked like he was enjoying himself, as he ripped people apart with his bare hands, as he gazed down at the blood on his fingers with an animalistic fascination. It unnerved Nathan, and it clearly unnerved Skwisgaar, who is currently staring at his fiance like he’s  intensely concerned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently, though, nothing can make the blonde shy away from the person he loves, because he’s cradling a still blood-slicked Toki in his arms, looking exhausted and stressed as he presses a kiss to the crown of his head. He glances up when he sees Nathan looking at them, asking gently with a light arch of an eyebrow, “How ams you doesing over dere?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno. Fucking...stressed out,” he mutters, staring down at his tightly clenched fists. He’d expressed in therapy, that he’s alright as long as he knows his bandmates are alright - and in no way, are any of them alright. It’s making his guts feel all twisted up inside, and he can’t help but grind out, “Is, uh. Is Toki...okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeeuh, he ams fine,” Skwisgaar mutters. “Dis ams actuallies de forst nice sleeps he’s had in like. A longs time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe he just...needed to get shit out of his system, out there,” Nathan tries, but something in his brain tells him that there’s more to what they saw than meets the eye, and it just worries him further. Skwisgaar’s face tells him all he needs to know - the blonde isn’t believing that, either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He, ehm. He tells me, dat Magnus makes him...an animals. You hords him says dat, when we was fightingks. I ams wonderingks, if he makes Toki…” the blonde glances down at the sleeping rhythm guitarist in his arms, and doesn’t say anything more. The gears in Nathan’s brain turns, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>remember the brunette saying that. What could it mean, though? What could Magnus have made him do? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. Uh. At least it’ll be useful when we’re fighting,” Nathan mutters, dropping his head into his hands. “I wish I knew if Pickles is going to be able to hold his own out there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nathans, I’s been thinkingk about dis. And don’t freaks out, but…” Skwisgaar’s worried blue eyes meet his own as he peeks through his fingers. “Does you thinks, dat maybes drowningk Pickle would expel de demons from hims too?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The idea instantly throttles him - of holding his fiance down, watching him thrash as his lungs fill with water, and he’s instantly shaking his head. It’s already going to be hard enough to do to Murderface - but killing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pickles</span>
  </em>
  <span>? It seems completely impossible, and the blonde instantly barrels on, looking nervous that Nathan is going to blow up on him for even suggesting such a thing, “Trust mes, I hads to gives Toki de poisons, and watch him dies. It amnst easies, but - it was what we neededs to does, in orders to saves him. You needs to thinks about dat, because if he goes into dis battle with Salacia in his head, de demon mights use his controls over him against us.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Nathan mutters miserably. “Pickles’ shit with this fucker is…different, than Murderface and Toki. They were never all tired and sick, a-and Charles said ‘the traitor’ had to be drowned, and that’s not Pickles’, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>role </span>
  </em>
  <span>in all of this. So what if it doesn’t--?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door he’d been glaring at opens, and his drummer stumbles out on wobbly legs, looking exhausted and ill as he makes his way over to the chair Nathan is sitting in. He rubs at his face, sighing, “Tony’s stable. Kinda outta it, but they think he’s gahnna be okey.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan grunts in response, and warmth blooms in his worry-churned gut as Pickles climbs into the chair with him, burying his face into the frontman’s neck. He wraps his bulky arms around him, holding him close, nuzzling against the side of his face, and his stomach drops when he hears a whispered, “Dood. I think my arm’s gettin’ worse.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s seen it. He knows. The last time he checked, said arm in question was turning from purple to black, the symbols turning jagged and spiky, the smell of death clinging to it. The darkness is climbing upwards, twisting and curling and smoking, as it makes its way to the freckled planes of his shoulder, slowly moving up to his clavicle. Nathan squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to think about it, as he whispers, “I know. It’s okay,” because he doesn’t know what else to say.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we totally fucked, or whet,” Pickles sighs into his neck, and Nathan just holds him tighter. “We could barely make it through our own fuckin’ fans, how are we s’posed to fight a demon?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a good question - one that Nathan doesn’t really have an answer to. Skwisgaar idly runs his fingers through Toki’s hair, glancing down at him, before muttering quietly, “Forst we gots to figures out how we ams goings to gets Moidaface to lets us drown hims. I thinks...we needs to be prepareds, for him to puts up a fight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles swallows thickly, and Nathan’s guts twist at the vision he saw, of Murderface on his knees, face in his hands as the darkness envelops him, blood dripping through the creases of his fingers. Skwisgaar holds Toki a little closer, as he says, “When Toki was goings to blows up de bus, Salacia had puts all dis stuff in his minds about turningks against de bands. I gots a feelings dat dis ams goings to be de same ways.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But...you convinced him that you were on his side. There’s gotta be a way for us to break through to Murderface,” Nathan says worriedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar looks at Pickles, before speaking hesitantly, “Eugh. I means....thinks about its. Salacia tells Toki dat I don’t loves him, and ams trying to kills him. He ams doings the exact same thing dis time. Whats triggereds Moidaface in de forst place was—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was me,” Pickles says, eyes wide as he stares up at the ceiling. Nathan swallows thickly, dread rolling over him, as his drummer shifts his gaze over to the blonde, “He freaked out after he told me he loved me. So...whet if the only thing that would bring ‘im back, is if I—?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t lie to him,” Nathan snaps anxiously, face flushing. “Because you don’t love him. Uh. Right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t love ‘im like thet. I love </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Pickles says quickly, leaning back to look at Nathan woozily. He takes one of the singer’s beefy hands in his own, sick and nervous as he whispers, “But...meybe he needs to know, det...” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar looks at the two of them pitifully, quickly training his eyes on Toki when he’s caught. Suddenly Nathan feels dizzy with sickness, and Pickles is just picking at the black nail polish on the singer’s fingers, not saying anything. The silence is tearing him apart inside, so he blurts, “Did something happen. Like. Romantically. Between you two.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We kissed,” Pickles whispers, and the mere idea of it sends Nathan absolutely reeling. “We jest--we jest kissed, once, when we were kids.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The images that flood his mind make him want to gouge his eyes out with melon ballers. Pickles and Murderface, lips and hands and--and his drummer doing that swirly thing with his tongue stud that Nathan loves so much, but on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Murderface</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His brain feels like it’s short-circuiting, as he deadpans, “You and Murderface. Kissed. You...kissed Murderface. Your mouth was, uh. On his mouth.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only fer like, less den ten minutes,” Pickles holds up his hands, thinking this will somehow make it better, but the idea of the two of them locked in some steamy multiple-minute-long make out session has him feeling like he might start puking up all the blood in his newest liver. “It wasn’t anythin’ more den thet. We jest stahpped and thet was it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re never really one to…‘just stop,’ Pickles. If you did more than that, I--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” his drummer says, squeezing his hands. “He didn’t try ‘n do anything else, so we prahbably gaht bored ‘er samthin’ and...it never happened again.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my gods, was he terribles?” Skwisgaar chuckles, ever the slut for gossip, and when Nathan turns to glare at him he shuts his mouth and holds his hands up apologetically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, he--it was fine, it was…” Pickles flushes, eyebrows knitting as he flounders for words that won’t make the situation worse, and clearly he has nothing helpful to say, so he just stops talking and looks to the frontman helplessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” his hands brace on his knees, and he really doesn’t want to ask, but he forces himself to anyways, “Did you have feelings for him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar and Nathan both stare at him, waiting for an answer, and finally Pickles swallows, twitchy and nervous as his shoulders slump up around his ears, “I did, but naht--it was in like, the kid-love type’a wey. I mean, I was seventeen, Nate’n, and he was the only person in the world who’d ever been nice t’me, and I…” he tugs at his dreads, “but den Tony came back, and Murderface--y’know, I didn’t think he liked me like thet, so...I gaht over it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” is all Nathan can say, shifting his eyes down, but Pickles grabs him by the sides of his face and directs his gaze back up to him. He looks so deadly serious that the frontman can do nothing but blink at him, as he says firmly, “Nate’n. Murderface—he was the one, who made me watch yer first show when you opened up for Snakes. He said t’me - ‘Pickles, you owe me so fucking hard for this.’ He knew if I met you, thet would be it. Thinkin’ back, knowin’ whet I know now - he totally fuckin’ set us up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan flashes back, to the day he met Pickles for the first time. He had been so nervous before the show, to the point where he was sitting with his face in his hands, pretty sure he was going to chicken out and leave before he could go out there and be booed off the stage. Murderace had come up to him, barking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“What the fuck isch your problem? We’re on in five minutesch!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m-I’m nervous. I’m a nervous guy, I don’t--I’ve never done a show this big before</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he’d admitted, trying to hide behind his shiny curtain of hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Snakes ‘n Barrels is like. A big fucking deal, and everyone’s gonna be watching because it’s their last show, and...I mean, there’s a billboard of Pickles outside my fucking house. He’s gonna, like. Be here. Watching, and I--” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Picklesch is not going to have a problem with your performanche, truscht me,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Murderface had snapped, rolling his eyes. He’d glanced down at Nathan, mouth twisting to the side, before he muttered, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Between you and me. I think he’sch gonna go abscholoutely schtupid for you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan hadn’t understood what he meant by that. He thought the bassist was telling him that Pickles was going to love his opening act - not </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>specifically. So, he’d raised an eyebrow in question, still jittery with nerves, and Murderface looked at him like he was hopelessly dumb, as he muttered, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m gonna make thisch real easchey for you. He’sch gonna be right at the front of the crowd. Juscht look for him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and you’ll be fucking fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, he did. He was up there, growling into the microphone, trying to search the redhead out, and then their eyes met for the first time, and suddenly the world was lit up in a glowing technicolor of clarity. When he found his voice again, he death growled out one of his best shows, heart hammering in his chest, fingers shaking around the microphone, eyes on Pickles the entire time, and it had all been over for him after that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, he can’t find his voice again, as everything slowly starts to click into place. He stammers, eyebrows knitted in confusion, “But--but </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Why would he do that, if he--?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because he knew you were everything thet I needed. He knew you were better fer me. And he was right - me ‘n Murderface, we needed t’love each other when we were kids. But you’re the real love thet I was always lookin’ for. He accepted it, and...if thet demon wasn’t in his head bringin’ up all these bad feelings, he would’ve never tried to break us up,” Pickles says softly, and Nathan feels tears pricking behind his eyes. “I mean. I’m sure he was always a little jealous of you. But he loved you too fuckin’ much to put me between you guys. He gave you dis band, he gave you me. He’s like. Even though he’s a fuckin’ dick, he’s prahbably the best friend either of us has ever had.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan is suddenly incredibly overwhelmed - he had thought this entire time since finding out, that Murderface was being an asshole by liking Pickles behind his back. But he was actually being, for once, completely selfless in never saying anything. He’s a dick, that’s who he is - but secretly, this entire time, he was the one behind making Nathan and Pickles so happy. Nathan bites back the tears as he squeezes his eyes shut, and if Murderface could make all these sacrifices for them, for the sake of their relationship - then this is the least he can do. So, he growls out, “Pickles. You have to tell him, that you used to...y’know. He needs to know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His drummer frowns confusedly at him, pierced eyebrows knitting. “But...whet good would thet do?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He thinks he just...loved you this whole time, and you never felt the same way. And knowing that he was special enough, even just once, to have your heart. That’s, um. That’ll be enough, for him,” Nathan mutters, and Pickles’ face drops into something soft and moon-eyed as he leans in, and rubs his smushy nose against the frontman’s. He whispers, “I know you’re my stars, Pickles. And that’s enough for me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m yours,” he whispers back, a soft parody of the night prior, and the two of them meet for a crushing kiss. Nathan tries not to notice the way Pickles’ injured arm dangles to the side, or that Skwisgaar is probably staring at them, or that the world is ending underneath where the helicopter whirls through the blood red sky. He has this, right here, right now. And it’s all he needs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their kissing is interrupted, as Pickles’ phone rings, making the three of them jump in surprise and Toki lift his head up as he slowly wakes up. His drummer huffs, grinning cheekily as Nathan pulls it out of his back pocket for him, but the smile drops right off his face as he looks down at it. No caller ID. It must be Magnus again, and his fingers shake as he slides to answer, pressing the speakerphone button. He huffs, “Whet d’ya want, dood.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh. Hello. Uh,” Magnus’ voice comes through, sounding strained and uneasy - a big change from his usual sly smugness, and they all exchange confused looks between each other. “How close are you guys?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno. Meybe twenny minutes?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. Good, yeah. Uh—“ the sound of a gun cocking stuns them all, as Magnus mutters, “Yeah. I’m texting you the coordinates. Your buddy here wants you to come alone. No Charlie, or the other guys.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hand me the phone, and get the fuck out before I blow your brainsch out,” Murderface’s voice growls distantly, sounding so much unlike his own. “I’m the one who’sch going to end thisch.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles’ fingers shake, eyes wild as he looks between Skwisgaar and Nathan, and then Murderface’s grating voice whispers, “Picklesch?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Murderface,” he breathes back desperately, “Dood. Y’gahtta listen t’me, we—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The biggest mischtake I ever made, wasch taking pity on you. And it’sch not a mischtake I’m going to make again,” he growls lowly, and the redhead swallows, eyelashes fluttering. “Bring it the fuck on, dickhead.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then the line clicks, ending the call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A very tense twenty minutes come and go, and before they know it, the helicopter is landing. Charles, Tony, and Seth stay behind - the rest of them bundle up in the snow gear that their manager had brought them, trapped in a tense silence. As Nathan zips up his coat, he eyes the five sets of armor that sit in the corner of the room - and when he sees Pickles’, his dream comes back to hit him full force. It’s exactly what his drummer had been wearing, when he’d whispered, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I’ll remember you, dood. I fuckin’ swear, I’ll remember you.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dese coordinates ams showings dat he ams in de middle of nowheres,” Skwisgaar says, as the four of them walk together in a line, the icy wind raging and whistling around them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He sounds real fucksed up in the phones,” Toki mutters nervously, wringing his mittened hands in front of him. “You thinks we ams reallies goins to be able to gets him in de water?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I gots a feelingk dat we just mights,” the blonde says, glancing over at Pickles, who is gripping Nathan’s arm tightly as he stumbles along. A bout of dizziness hits him, causing him to sway backwards like he’s going to fall, and Nathan scrambles to steady him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woah. Okay, fuck. I’ll carry you,” he tries, but Pickles shakes his head, clutching at the frontman’s shoulders as he tries to catch his breath. How he can be so winded just from walking terrifies Nathan even further, and he faintly wonders how much time exactly he has before he can’t move on his own at all. He thinks of Skwisgaar’s suggestion, and eyes a nearby cove, glistening with swirling lavender water, and he somehow has a feeling that this is where it’s all going to go down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dood, y’dont hafta—“ he sucks in a wet breath of air. “Y’already carried me fer like, eight miles. I feel bad enough thet—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. It’s my job, to take care of you. Don’t be a dick about it,” Nathan mutters. “It doesn’t bother me. I like knowing you’re safe, and—and my arms are like. The safest place you can be. So.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles’ looks up at him, face melting into those gooey eyes that never fail in making the frontman’s legs weak, grinning crookedly. The moment is broken, however, when Toki points ahead, whispering, “Waits! There he ams!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lemme handle dis,” Pickles whispers to them, forcing himself to continue standing on his own two feet. “Jest...git around him, and git the ropes ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing across the ice, is Murderface, completely alone as the wind howls around him. They hesitantly step closer, trying to ignore the restraints in their back pockets, and when Nathan finally gets a glimpse of their bassist’s face, all the breath is knocked out of his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The veins that had been crawling up his arms now consume his entire body, pulsating and glowing the same color as his dripping eyes. The blood running down his face, from his nose and his mouth and his eyes, is pitch black, and his curls are wild in his eyes, chest heaving like it’s hard for him to breathe. It’s so heartbreaking to see him like this, that Nathan can feel his own chest constrict in pain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scho, </span>
  <em>
    <span>brothersch</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says, a mirror image of Toki holding up the match in the Dethbus. “Thisch isch what itsch’s come to, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will,” Pickles says, hands up placatingly as he takes a step closer. The look in the bassist’s eyes, as he darkly glares down their drummer, is incredibly unsettling - however, something flickers behind them at the use of the nickname. Pickles tries to force his feet to carry him further, but the Murderface backs up like a caged animal, and Nathan, Skwisgaar, and Toki move to surround him carefully. He pleads, voice breaking, “You’ve gahtta fuckin’ believe me. Dere’s no ahther wey out--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“After all I’ve done for you,” Murderface spits, fists shaking violently. “After everything we’ve been through.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lookit yerself, dood! You’re bleedin’ outta yer fuckin’ eyes, doesn’t thet seem familiar? Salacia is in your head, Murderface! You’ve been brainwahshed, we’re—we’re jest trying to help you!” Pickles begs, and he watches as the bassist clutches at this temples, knocks his fists against his forehead, teeth gritting shut as the voice inside his head screams at him not to listen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’sch fucking right!” He yells, staining the ice underneath them with the blood that starts to drip out of his mouth. “Why would you come here to schave me, huh? When the fuck did ANY OF YOU ever care about anybody but yourschelves? Wascn’t that the rule that we made? Not to care? I mean, Toki, did you even KNOW what we were doing while you were rotting with fucking Magnusch?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skwisgaar stands up straighter, as Toki raises his eyebrows in confusion. The bassist picks up on this and runs with it, throwing out an arm, “We were fucking partying around the world! Schmoking and fucking and takin’ it easchey! Skwischgaar wasch scho fucked up that he fucking—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moidaface!” The blonde tries to interrupt helplessly, but he’s talked right over, “—</span>
  <em>
    <span>overdosched</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You...whats?” Toki gapes at Skwisgaar, hand fluttering up over his mouth. He doesn’t look angry, but his face is awash with concern, as he breathes in realization, “Ams dat why you ams sobers?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I donts wants to talks about dis, I—“ Skwisgaar holds up his hands, looking right at Nathan, and the frontman tries to send him some type of assurance in just a look as they both think about </span>
  <em>
    <span>that day</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that the blonde made them all promise never to speak of. He sputters, “I-I was doesing it to tries and deals with you beingk gones, I--I was so miserables with yous--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was it bads?” Toki asks incredulously, reaching out for him, “Did yous--oh my gods, Skwisgaar, I hads no ideas--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Murderface takes this distraction to thunder forward, moving so fast that they can barely see him. In a flash, he has Pickles’ back to his chest, gun pressing against the soft flesh of his throat, and Nathan is growling protectively, ready to step forward and wrangle him himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nate, no, it’s okey,” Pickles says insistently, cute little nose tipped upwards towards the burning sky. “He’s naht gonna hurt me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna fucking bet?” Murderface growls, pressing the weapon hard against his trachea. “If you guysch come any closcher, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> schoot the schit out of him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moidaface,” Toki begs, conversation with Skwisgaar put on hold at the sight of the gun against their drummer’s neck. “You doesn’t knows what you ams doins! You gots to stops dis, and listens to us!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve alwaysch been listening. To every jab at my appearanche, at my bassch playing, at how dischgusting and annoying and worthlessch and—what wasch that you schaid yeschterday, Skwischgaar? I’m unfuckable?” Murderface spits, purple veins tensing and untensing as the gun in his hand shakes. “I’m the fucking fifth wheel. Thatsch all I’ve been, all I’m ever going to be to you guysch.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moidaface, we doesn’t means any of de shits we says about yous. You fuckingks knows dat we loves you,” Skwisgaar says pleadingly. “And maybes we takes it too far sometimes, but we’s—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m fucking done with thisch schit. You guysch are going to get everything you fucking descherve, and guessch what? If Picklesch diesch right here, and you guysch kill me, then you’re not going to be able to win any fucking Prophechsy. Not with only three of you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles tries again, sounding confident and calm as he says evenly, “Will, you’re naht going to--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>call me that.” Murderface cocks the gun, hissing, “There were scho many times I could’ve juscht let you die. My life would’ve been scho much easchier. I schouldve juscht left you in that dumpschter and gotten it over with.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you didn’t,” Pickles says, and Murderface </span>
  <em>
    <span>growls</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the dark blood from his face dripping onto Pickles’ shoulder, and Nathan’s feet bounce against the ice, itching to yank his fiancé out of this dangerous situation. But Pickles’ eyes are boring straight into his own, saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve got this, don’t worry, I’m going to bring him back.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You didn’t, because no maetter whet you fuckin’ sey, no matter who’s in yer brain, you know thet you care too much about me to see me hurt. So jest let me go, and we can tahk about—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, but YOU don’t give a FUCK about hurting ME. All you fucking DO isch rip my heart out of my fucking chescht!” He snarls, emotion rising to his face, and it reminds Nathan of Murderface in therapy, when his emotional dam would break and he’d be left a sobbing mess. He looks like he’s going to cry now, as he rages on, “I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> been fucking good enough, no matter what I fucking do! Not following you around at every fucking schtupid party to make schure you didn’t choke on your own fucking puke, not coming back after you DITCHED ME when Tony schaid you needed me, not getting Magnusch out of your fucking life and schetting you up with fucking Nathan even when I wanted you for MYSCHELF!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thet’s naht true. I never thaught you weren’t good enough,” Pickles says, voice shaking, and Nathan knows what’s coming, and he accepts it, bracing himself as he focuses on their bassist’s insanity-tortured face, knowing this is what needs to be done in order to save him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell that to fucking twenty yearsch of—!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles squeezes his eyes shut, yelling, “I did fuckin’ love you! Okay? I fuckin’ loved you the minute you walked into gahddamn Burzum’s, and—I mean, whey the fuck did you think I wanted to make out with you, you fuckin’ moron! But you—you didn’t push it any further, you kept sayin’ you weren’t gay, so I didn’t push it either!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan’s shoulders square up, repeating </span>
  <em>
    <span>you put all my ather love t’shame </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his head like a mantra, as all the breath whooshes out of Murderface’s body. He gapes at him, the hold on his brain visibly slipping, “What the fuck did you juscht schay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles huffs, snapping, “You fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, douchebaeg.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voice must be screaming at him, because he snaps out of his shock, snarling as his shaking hands press the gun closer, “You’re fucking lying, juscht scho you can get me to agree to—!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! I’m naht lyin’, I felt the same wey you did. I didn’t think you liked me back. And den dere was Tony, and he was actin’ liked he wanted me, so I moved ahn,” Pickles says through his teeth. “And Murderface, you gaht over it too. The demon in yer fuckin’ head is making you feel all kinds of crazy shit to try and turn you against the band, and whet you think you feel fer me isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You set me up with Nate’n because you know he’s real fuckin’ deal fer me - you knew before I did, before I even met ‘im, thet he’s the love of my life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bassist shakes his head wildly, teeth stained black, “No! Itsch not true! Theresch no way that—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The kiss, it—“ Pickles stares up at the sky, breathing through his mouth raggedly, “it did mean samthin’ t’me. You know thet I...did stuff, to get by on the streets. It was the first kiss I ever had thet was with sahmone who I </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt things</span>
  </em>
  <span> for, who wasn’t hurtin’ me.” He turns his head, to look at the bassist over his shoulder, muttering meaningfully, “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>hurt me. And thet’s how I know you’re naht gonna start now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Murderface falters. He blinks like he’s lost, as he shakes his head again, breathing out, “Why--? Why the fuck didn’t you ever tell me? We could’ve—“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. We couldn’t have. Naht really,” Pickles says, dropping his gaze. “Because I would’ve met Nate’n either wey, and it would’ve been all over fer us, and—fuck! Yer one of the best fuckin’ friends I’ve ever had in the world, and—“ tears gather up in his eyes, “I would’ve lost you. I can’t fuckin’ lose you. We don’t sey it enough, but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> the foundation of the band. We wouldn’t be here without you, we can’t even make music right without havin’ yer storm cloud rainin’ over us, and yer a gahddamn pain in the ass - but we all fuckin’ love you jest as much as we love each ather. It doesn’t have to be romantic, Murderface. We love you like our brother, and thet’s always gahnna be enough.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The emotional dam breaks, and suddenly, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sobbing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, shoving Pickles away from him like he’s been burned, gun clattering down to the ground. He doubles over, gasping out, “Fuck! Guysch, fuck, you gotta--gotta get him out--hurry the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck up</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They scramble to get him tied up, slamming him to the ground as they work together to restrain his arms and legs, and he can’t stop crying, tears freezing down the sides of his face as he tries to keep himself from thrashing in their grip. Pickles is next to him, grabbing his face, telling him, “It’s gahnna be okay, you’re gahnna come back, I’ll be right there with you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They rush to get him into the cove, over the pool of water, and the part of Nathan that still doesn’t completely believe all of this wonders if there’s a chance he’s not going to come back from this. But they can’t afford to take that risk, and with the demon in his head, Murderface is sure as dead either way. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if this isn’t going to be hard. The long rope attached to their bassist, that they’re going to use to pull him out, is clutched tightly by both guitarists, one of which is crying openly and the other trying his hardest to look strong, for Nathan’s sake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do it, fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>do it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I can’t fucking schtand it anymore!” Murderface wails, falling against Pickles’ chest, nearly knocking them both into the water. The thought comes back to Nathan full-force, about expelling the demon from them both, and he fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he’s fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Skwisgaar’s voice hits his ears, urging him, “Nathans you know what you has to does, lets dem goes togethors!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck! </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Pickles,” Nathan blurts, voice crackling as both his drummer and bassist turn to look at him. “I think--I think you should...I think you should go in too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The redhead blinks wildly at him, eyebrows practically shooting up into his hairline as he stammers, “W-Whet?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“YOU CAN’T DO THISCH TO ME! YOU’RE JUSCHT TRYING TO--” Murderface gasps, squeezing his eyes shut, yelling to himself, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Schut the fuck up! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Schit, you have to throw me in, I can’t control it!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nathans!” Skwisgaar begs, “You gots to hurries, we ams losingks hims!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You both need him out,” Nathan breathes, rushing over to take Pickles’ hands in his own. “You both need him out, a-and you know you’ll come back, so--let’s just give it a shot.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my gahd,” Pickles practically starts to hyperventilate, shaking his head violently, “Nate’n, I dunno if I can--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to. We have to try,” he begs, cupping his face tenderly as he growls through his tears, “I fucking love you. I love you so much it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you too, dood,” he gasps, hugging him tightly. “Fuck! Okey, okey. Do it, tie my hands to his.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan can barely see through his blurred vision, as he makes quick work of tying their wrists together, and he can’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>deal </span>
  </em>
  <span>with all this heartbreak. At least it’s happening fast, too fast for him to try and focus on, and he smacks a kiss to Pickles’ lips before he grabs them both by the shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Picklesch, holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Murderface ekes out, purple-tinted eyes terrified as the two of them lace their fingers together, squeezing tight. “Holy fuck, we’re about to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re gahnna be okey, I’m right fuckin’ here with you,” Pickles assures him, nose and cheeks red from crying in the biting cold. “Let’s fuckin’ do it, dood. You ready?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, fuck, let’sch do it,” he nods, and they press their foreheads together, eyes squeezing shut as they brace themselves, and Nathan can’t look as he bites his bottom lip so hard it draws blood, and shoves them as hard as he can. They both scream as they’re pushed right in, the water splashing explosively around them as they sink down. And then, everything’s quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathan falls to his knees, crying like he’s never cried before - big, bellowing death growls of sobs, and Skwisgaar and Toki are yelling to him, trying to talk him down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It ams okays, they ams goins to comes back, just like I dids! Nathans, looks at mes, you dids the right things, I’s so prouds of you...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just puts his face in his hands, and falls apart. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Murderface’s mind is screaming, wailing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>burning</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and his eyes pop open as water fills his lungs, looking across him to see Pickles’ huge eyes looking right back, stricken with panic, fingers still closed in a death grip around his own. His drummer tries to say something to him, bubbles exploding out of his mouth as he chokes instead, and he’s just wanted him to be okay, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>always wanted him to be okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and seeing him go is too, too painful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sink, hands shaking as they stare at each other, pressing their foreheads back together, gasping until their lungs are full, and they lock eyes one last time, something akin to acceptance, reassurance, passed between the two of them. Pickles’ wet red eyelashes slowly slide closed, jaw dropping, dreads fanned around them in a halo, and it’s the last thing he sees, before the blackness takes them both. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When his eyes flutter back opened, he’s sitting on the couch back at Mordhaus. Nathan is yelling at the game on TV, Pickles nestled into the crook of his arm as he tries to recover from a hangover with more vodka. Toki and Skwisgaar are bickering, shoving at each other, but there’s a lightness to their voice, a loving shine to their eyes. Charles is trying to get their attention, standing in front of the TV with a clipboard, waving a hand as he goes on about business and merch and numbers, and Nathan just leans over to try and see the screen behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He realizes, faintly, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is his happy place. Home, with the family he never thought he’d have, basking in the glory of all the things his dumb, sweaty hands had somehow managed to create. Pickles and Nathan wouldn’t be this happy without him forcing them to meet. Skwisgaar and Toki never would’ve crossed paths, if Murderface hadn’t gotten Magnus out of their drummer’s life. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All of thisch, isch becausche of me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not the fifth wheel - I’m the fucking grand matchmaker. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His thoughts, before they’d been poisoned, slowly come back to him. He’d been terrified, when he thought Toki was going to die. Cried, for the first time in maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and when the little guy came out on the other side, attacking Skwisgaar with kisses and declarations of love, he’d been fucking thrilled for them. Not that he’d have ever admitted it, but he wanted to see their happy ending more than anyone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t jealous of Pickles and Nathan - he was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy </span>
  </em>
  <span>for them. Happy that Pickles got his happy ending, happy that his grand plan worked, and that he alone was the cause of every gooey glowing smile, every swoon and every giddy laugh. He knew, he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>it </span>
  </em>
  <span>for him - but if he could be the reason that Pickles made it this far, that he’s happier than he’s ever been in his life, then that’s still a fucking win, isn’t it? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They coupled up - but they never left him behind. Even when they weren’t making music - fuck, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>they were making music, he barely even played, and they still kept him around - they still constantly wanted him with them. They’d force him to come along on double dates, drag him to every x-month anniversary dinner. They might not need him, might not be obligated to have him, but they fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>love him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and they’re never going to get rid of him. And turns out, he loves them too, and that was the main thing that the demon really wanted him to forget. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In his mind’s eye, he sees himself and Pickles, floating in the dark abyss with their hands tied together, fingers still gripped in each other’s like lifelines. His drummer’s eyes are closed, water dripping down his goatee, and he can faintly hear voices - Nathan’s voice, begging them, </span>
  <em>
    <span>come back to me, come back to me, blink if you hear me--fuck! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The water beast illuminates the water in front of them, lighting up in a sparkling rainbow of colors, and she says ‘let me talk to you,’ so Murderface does. He hesitantly shuts his eyes, the connection snaking through the water, taking the darkness out of his veins, replacing them with something golden and glowing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You are the traitor. This was your fate, not his. It will not work, for him. His grip on Pickles is more powerful, as he’s the insurance the band will not run. The only way the demon’s influence can be lifted, is by winning the battle.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His eyelashes twitch against his cheeks, unsure of what this means. She continues, ‘to fulfill your path, you will have to do an act of selflessness. You will have to save him, one last time.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s talking to a whale right now. This is so fucked up. But he finds himself nodding, giving himself to it, promising, ‘Uh, schure. I can do that.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Soulmates are not always romantic. Pickles was destined to be your greatest friend. You are destined to be his guide to happiness. That is a great honor. Through a lifetime of pain, and trying to close yourself off, you have a selfless soul.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Grossch. That’sch a little extreme.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You are the one who will lead them to the ending. Protect them with everything in yourself, and you will reach your own happiness. Your true Soulmate is closer than you think.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t know how to respond to this, so he says nothing about it. Instead, he mutters, ‘Isch Picklesch going to be okay?’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘He was always meant to go. But there is something you can do. You’ll know when the time is right.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nathan’s voice breaks through again, choked up and far away, “Fuck, you guys, you gotta fight to breathe, just--hold my hand, look in my eyes, do something, please…” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘The clock within your chest gives back your life. You live in your body. You live in your soul. You live in your heart. And they live with you.' </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes snap back open, air rushing into his lungs as he jolts up, vomiting up water onto the ice underneath him, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s cold out here! He sputters, choking, but he doesn’t have any time to complain, because he’s suddenly being tackled, under fire of people hugging and kissing and sobbing all over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moidaface!” Toki yells, planting sloppy kisses to his cheek in the exact same way the bassist had kissed him when he woke up from his coma. “You ams back! Fucks, we missed yous so much! We gots so much to catch you up ons!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my gods, I was just about to beats you awakes with my guitars!” Skwisgaar gasps, long arms around his neck. “Fucks, we was so worrieds about yous! Don’t evor does dat to us agains!”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeschusch Chrischt, </span>
  <em>
    <span>gay </span>
  </em>
  <span>much?” he huffs, but he can’t help the smile that graces his features as he wraps his arms around them both and hugs back tightly. He adds begrudgingly, “I missched you guysch too, or whatever.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Murderface looks over, to see Nathan giving Pickles the heimlich, but the frontman’s eyes are on him, shining with relief that he’s okay. He suddenly has the grace to feel embarrassed, because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>kind of try and steal the big guy’s boyfriend for a second there - but when Nathan’s eyes soften further, with an understanding that only the two of them could possibly share, Murderface smiles tiredly at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he gone?” Nathan asks him hopefully, bulky arms working to pump Pickles' chest. “You can’t hear him anymore?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses, listening for the screaming voice, and is met with the beautiful sound of silence. He grins, hands over his face, as he breathes out a laugh, “Fuck yesch! He’sch gone, you guysch--you got him out! Thank fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that schit was annoying! Toki, I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>way more </span>
  </em>
  <span>reschpect for you now, holy schit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ja, I knows. I ams pretties brutal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that must mean--” Nathan’s eyes light up, as he reaches for their drummer’s arm, and when he holds it up, all the happiness drops clean off his face. Murderface gasps at the sight of it, his own smile disappearing, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>? “No,” the frontman growls, knocking a fist against his head, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Why didn’t it fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pickles suddenly gasps, water exploding out of his mouth and right into Nathan’s face, but the frontman could not give less of a fuck, as he gasps, “Pickles, thank fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” and the two of them go rolling as they tackle each other into a hug. The frontman kisses him with a fierceness to match, hands in his dreads, face screwed up as he cries, and Pickles keeps trying to talk or catch his breath, but he’s swept up in the storm that is Nathan Explosion, and he can do nothing but go along for the ride. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing them, like that - it only makes Murderface fucking proud, because, y’know. It’s all because of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nate’n, heeeey, I love you too—“ Pickles gasps, sputtering for air. The whole situation seems to come back to him, though, because his eyes pop open, and he breathes out, “Where’s Will? Did he come back? Is the demon gahn, did—?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m right here, dickhead,” the bassist smiles at him, and Nathan lets Pickles go, so the two of them can slam each other into a hug. The redhead sniffles into his ear, fingers gripping his soaked vest like a lifeline, and Murderface says quietly, “Look. You know I don’t like apologizching, scho—I’m sorry for trying to fuck with you and Nathan. I know that—that he’sch the one whosch meant for you. And you can thank me for that, by the way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dood. Nothin’ to apahlogize for. I meant every word of whet I said t’you,” Pickles whispers back, hugging him tighter. His voice sounds fragile, as he mutters, “I do love Nate’n. But I’ll always have a spot in my heart fer you, dood. Always. Yer my oldest friend, and fuckin’...you’re the closest thing to a real brother I ever had.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gay,” Murderface rolls his now-teary eyes, and the two of them crush each other tighter. “Fuck, Picklesch. Juscht...juscht be fuckin’ happy, alright? I worked too goddamn hard for you not to be.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, now I can be,” Pickles smiles against his face.“‘Cause yer back. Mordhaus might be gahn, but the five of us, t’gether - we’re always gonna be home.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Home. He and Pickles have shared so many different homes together - a hotel, shitty apartments, penthouses, more shitty apartments, Mordhaus. Maybe home isn’t a place, but a person. Before he can get too sickeningly happy, though, Pickles starts shivering - he assumes this is because they were just drowned in ice cold water, but when his drummer pulls back to reach for Nathan, the bassist suddenly realizes how tired he looks. How sickly pale his skin is, the sickness dragging down his face, and that age-old worry for their drummer crashes over him like a tidal wave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’sch going on?” He breathes, looking between the four of them cluelessly. His memory is spotty, and he doesn’t even remember how or why he got here - what did Pickles mean, when he said Mordhaus is gone? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eugh. Like Toki saids, we, ahhm. Gots a lots to fills you in ons,” Skwisgaar mutters, and they all help each other up as they make their way back to the Hatredcopter, finally reuinted as a band.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>here we go!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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